The Spider and the Fly
by HoosYourDaddy
Summary: Harry has faced down dementors, Death Eaters, and Dark Lords. None of it has prepared him for Phaedra Zabini. Smut Warning: Not for younger audiences. A bit sinister with some mild dubcon.
1. Chapter 1

**The Spider and the Fly**

 **WARNING** : This story is for mature audiences only. It contains representations of sexual acts and situations.

 **Disclaimer** : I don't own Harry Potter, etc., etc.

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 **Chapter One:**

Harry literally kicked rocks from the sidewalk as he approached the park. It had long ago been vandalized into a useless eyesore by his cousin and the other neighborhood kids. There was nothing to do there, but he had nowhere better to be.

His 16th birthday had come and gone, yet he had not been removed from his prison. The planned party for him had been postponed due to an emergency of some kind, and he had been forced to remain with his muggle relatives. Not a single birthday present had arrived for him.

He was feeling more than a little sorry for himself as he spent another afternoon wallowing in guilt over his godfather's death. His mood alternated between despair and seething rage at himself, Dumbledore, Lestrange, and Snape. He had been kept in the dark for too long, and it had led to the death of someone very important to him.

He was almost to the park when he became aware of a shadow approaching from behind. A shiny black limousine slowly pulled alongside him, hugging the curb. He stiffened, unsure if he was in danger, and watched as the driver's window descended.

A huge man in a black suit with a driver's cap gestured at him.

"Pardon me, young man, but I'm afraid I am lost. I'm looking for Wysteria Way. Do you happen to know where that is?"

He took in the shiny splendor of the limousine and the appearance of the driver. Both looked very out of place in Little Whinging.

"I've never heard of Wysteria Way, sir. There's a Wysteria Walk back the way you came."

The man frowned and looked at a map in his hands.

"I'm quite certain my instructions were to find an address on Wysteria Way. Could you perchance help me with this map, lad?"

He cautiously walked closer, ready to draw his wand. The driver held a muggle street map out of the window. Harry leaned down to get a better look at it, and the man suddenly blew some sort of powder into his face. It flew into his eyes and nose, and he fell to the ground unconscious.

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He fought the urge to panic as he slowly returned to consciousness. He remembered a limousine, a driver, a map, and then…nothing.

He could tell he was inside a moving vehicle. His brain worked furiously as he kept his eyes closed and tried to understand what was happening. He hoped to overhear something, to gain some hint about his situation. He could only tell that his wand was no longer secured to his arm, and that did not reassure him.

"I know you're awake, Mr. Potter. I administered the antidote myself," an amused female voice said from his left.

He tensed and opened his eyes. He was indeed in the back of the limousine. There was a divider up between him and the driver who had interrupted his walk. The back section was spacious, with black leather seats, darkly tinted windows, and, apparently, another person.

He glanced to his left.

Several feet away a woman was reclining against the seat. She was watching him with open curiosity.

He observed her warily, trying to determine how much danger he was in. She was beautiful, stunningly so. She had dark bronze skin and looked to be of mixed ancestry, part African and part something else, perhaps Egyptian or Asian. She had high cheekbones and the most mesmerizing green eyes he had ever seen. They seemed to demand his attention.

There was a haughty air about her, but she didn't look like any Death Eater he had encountered. She was wearing a shimmering silver dress that hugged her body, providing a tantalizing contrast to her dark skin. Her hair was long and black, flowing down the nape of her neck, but also lifted behind her in a complex braid. A necklace full of glittering diamonds completed her ensemble.

She smirked faintly as she watched him take in her appearance. It did not calm his nerves. There was something sinister about her eyes.

"Relax, Mr. Potter. You are safe," she said, her accent unfamiliar. It sounded only vaguely British to his ears.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Phaedra Zabini. You have heard of me perhaps?"

Harry frowned. "I know of a Blaise Zabini at…school."

"Blaise is my son."

He felt a sudden surge of dread as he remembered a long-forgotten tale about Blaise Zabini's mother. Seven marriages. Seven dead husbands. A black widow. He knew almost nothing about Blaise himself, except that he was a quiet Slytherin rarely seen in the presence of Malfoy.

"I, erm, it's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. The pleasure is mine. I apologize for the circumstances of your arrival but I assure you that I intend you no harm."

He nodded, gaining some confidence from the fact that he did not appear to be in immediate danger.

"What was that…stuff your driver blew in my face?"

"A very expensive combination of ingredients, with powdered asphodel as a catalyst. Quite illegal, but so very useful."

His sense of danger ratcheted up again. "Would you mind returning my wand?"

She smiled. "I assure you that your wand is safe with me. You shouldn't be performing magic out of school anyway, you know."

He didn't like that answer, but there was little he could do about it. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Her smiled widened, revealing pearly white teeth that gleamed in the dim light. "As a matter of fact there is, Harry—may I call you Harry?"

"Yes ma'am."

"There's no need to be so formal. Please, call me Phaedra."

"Very well…Phaedra. What can I do for you?"

"It would be more accurate to say that there is something we can do for each other. I wish for us to exchange favors."

"What sort of favors?"

She smiled again. "We'll come to that in a moment. We should get to know each other first, don't you think?"

"If you so say, ma'am," he said cautiously.

He had no idea whether she was associated with the Death Eaters. She claimed to mean him no harm, but he wasn't very trusting lately, and for good reason. Just looking at her made him nervous. She was so beautiful he couldn't keep his eyes to himself, and she was looking at him so intently that he found it disturbing.

"Please…Phaedra," she reminded him politely. "'Ma'am' makes me feel old and matronly. Do I strike you as matronly?"

He gave her a strained smile. "Not at all, Phaedra."

"There. That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

He watched as her eyes roved slowly over his entire body, taking in his unruly hair, his eyes, his thin frame, and his ill-fitting, raggedy clothes.

"I am curious about you, Harry," she said casually. "Many people are curious about The-Boy-Who-Lived these days."

Her eyes rose to his scar and she stared at it with interest. "Such a fascinating moniker, 'The-Boy-Who-Lived.' So many layers of meaning. You are the most famous teenager in our world, and yet…"

"And yet?"

"And yet you live in a muggle neighborhood that might be politely described as humble. You live with muggles who are vulgar at best. I am interested to know why a distinguished celebrity lives in a place with the unspeakably awful name of 'Little Whinging.'"

He shifted uncomfortably. "My aunt is my closest living relative. I was sent to her after my parents died."

She raised a delicate eyebrow. "And why do _they_ choose to reside in such a place?"

"It's…what my uncle can afford, I guess. He's a drill salesman."

"A drill salesman," she repeated, sounding simultaneously amused and appalled.

"Er, yes ma'am."

"Phaedra," she repeated firmly.

"Sorry. Phaedra." His instincts were screaming at him that he did not want to irritate this woman.

She regarded him for a long moment. He struggled not to squirm under her attention. There was something about her piercing green eyes that made him want to stare deeply into them and never look away.

"The Potters were never a noble family, nor a very wealthy one. But they certainly weren't paupers. Did your parents leave you nothing?"

Her question lingered in the air as he considered his response. "With all due respect, Phaedra, I don't understand why that's any of your business."

She smiled that dazzling smile again, and he couldn't help but stare at its perfection. He wondered idly if she had some veela ancestry in her.

"I make it my business to know such things."

He took a deep breath, willing himself to relax. "How did you find me?"

"I do not understand the question. Are you in hiding?"

"Er, not exactly, but I'm supposed to be protected here."

"Ah," she said. "You are protected, I suppose, from the most ignorant of purebloods. But I am not an ignorant person."

He had no doubt whatsoever about that. But he was supposed to be protected from everyone during the summer, ignorant or not. His confusion registered on his face.

"I have resources in both worlds, Harry. Many resources. It was extraordinarily easy to find your address through muggle school records, hospital records, your family's tax records…need I go on?"

He shook his head. An unsettling feeling was rising in his gut again.

"So you are attempting to hide in plain sight?" she continued. "That does not seem wise, given the nature of your enemies."

"I'm told that I'm safe from them here."

She shrugged elegantly. "And you are, after a fashion. There are wards extending 200 yards around your home in every direction. Quite a variety of them, including some that I don't recognize. But you weren't near your home this afternoon, were you?"

"No."

She smiled again, the glint of her teeth unnerving him. "No, indeed. Your security is frightfully negligent for someone so important."

"I'm…supposed to have bodyguards following me." He wondered if one of his minders was lying dead or unconscious in a ditch somewhere.

"Is that so?"

He nodded slowly, unable to get a read on her.

"I can assure you there are no other wizards or witches within ten miles of here. I did take the liberty of removing a couple tracking charms from your person, however."

"It's a good thing I'm in no danger then."

"Quite."

"May I ask where my wand is?"

"As I said, it is quite safe. You shan't be needing it."

He did not bother to ask for its return. She had already incapacitated him once, and he had no doubt she could do so again, never mind what her hulking driver was capable of.

She appraised his clothing again. "Is there a reason that your relations dress you in rags that do not fit you?"

"They're hand-me-downs from my cousin," he said flatly.

"And why do you not purchase your own clothes?"

Harry chose not to answer, growing irritated with her personal questions.

"If you need spending money, I know of a very easy way for you to acquire some," she said pleasantly.

"What's that?"

"You may not be aware of it," she said with a grin, "but Italy has the finest brothels in the world. There is quite a trade in polyjuice there. One can even purchase hairs of famous muggles for the right price."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"You're not quite so renowned there—more of a curiosity, really—but even so…I could probably get 1000 galleons for a single hair of yours."

He winced, feeling a little sick at the thought of what someone else might do in his body.

She laughed softly at his expression. "If you were to gift me an entire lock? Well, you do the math. Why not allow some stranger to have a little fun with your body if you get paid handsomely in return? I'm certain that it beats mowing your uncle's lawn for free."

He looked away. He couldn't tell if she was serious or just teasing him. Either way, she knew entirely too much about his life.

There was an extended silence that felt uncomfortable to him. He glanced at her. She had tilted her head and was watching his face with amusement. It was almost a fond look, had it not been for her eyes.

"Forgive my rudeness, Harry. I can't help being curious about such a contradictory specimen as yourself."

He gave her the faintest of nods, wondering when she would get to the point of this bizarre charade. He looked out the darkened windows. They were no longer in Little Whinging, though the passing landmarks did seem familiar.

"You have not asked me any questions about myself," she said, drawing his attention back to her. "Are you not curious?"

He sighed internally. Without his wand, he had no choice but to play along with her little game. "What would you like me to ask?"

"That's not really for me to decide, is it? Perhaps you are curious why someone who is clearly not Italian goes by the name 'Zabini?'"

"I had wondered."

She smiled, and now it looked truly sinister. Somehow it enhanced rather than marred her unnatural beauty.

"It was a gift from my late husband, my first late husband. It was the most valuable gift he gave me; more so, in fact, than his gold and jewels. The name came with a beautiful villa and a certain amount of influence in southern Europe. It also provided my son with a proper pedigree."

"That's fortunate."

"Indeed it is."

When he asked no more questions of her, she smiled coyly at him. "Tell me, Harry. Do you think I'm a beautiful woman?"

"Very much so."

"Thank you. I hear it often, but it's always nice to hear it from a young man of your stature. When you have money and beauty, the only thing worth living for is pleasure. Compliments are a small pleasure, but a pleasure nonetheless."

He was still confused, but he was working under the assumption that this woman was cultured, intelligent, and very, very dangerous. He didn't know what she wanted with him, but he also didn't want to know what it would be like to have her as an enemy.

She stared at him again, as if he were an inscrutable painting in a museum. "You are not at all what I expected, Harry Potter."

"What did you expect?"

"I could only rely on my son's reports and newspaper articles, both of which are biased. But I expected you to be somewhat arrogant, perhaps even disdainful. I am told that you flout all the rules and don't deign to speak with anyone outside your inner circle. Is that true?"

"No, it's not."

"I can see that. You seem rather shy to me, in fact. And yet you are rumored to be quite the bold fighter. A remarkable contrast."

He shrugged. "I fight back when someone threatens me, and I don't like being gawked at by people I don't know."

"Well said. Many famous people feel as you do. They are often misunderstood by casual observers."

"I only trust a few people at Hogwarts," he replied, feeling more bewildered by the second with the shifting conversation.

"I don't blame you. I would do much the same in your situation. When one is important, it is difficult to know whom one can trust."

He nodded his agreement.

"What do you think of my son?" she asked curiously. "I understand you share a few classes together."

"I…don't really know Blaise. He seems nice enough though."

"Nice," she repeated, amused. "Clearly you have never spoken to my son."

"Er, Slytherins and Gryffindors don't really mix."

"Understandable. The houses are traditionally antagonistic. Their rivalry was equally vicious in my day."

"So you attended Hogwarts too?"

"You sound surprised."

"Your accent is…different."

He didn't bother asking which House she was in. It certainly wasn't Hufflepuff.

"I have lived in Italy and France for many years now. Blaise was quite put out that he would not be allowed to attend Beauxbatons."

"Why not?"

"I wanted him to get a proper Slytherin education. One must learn a certain skill set in order to survive there. It will serve him well when he is older."

Harry didn't want to think about what that skill set contained. She smiled at his reaction.

He looked away, again growing uncomfortable with her penetrating gaze. "May I ask why I am here now?"

"I have already told you. I seek a favor from you, or, rather, I seek to exchange a favor for a favor."

His brow furrowed. He didn't have any idea what she meant. She had already had ample opportunity to harm him. She could have killed him, in fact. Instead she was chatting with him in the back of a limousine about favors.

She watched him closely, letting the silence drag again. He felt forced to look at her.

"I wish for us to spend the afternoon together, Harry Potter," she finally said, a gentle smirk playing on her lips.

"Why?"

"Why not? There are all sorts of things we could do together."

"Like what?"

"The sorts of things that men and women do together when they are alone."

His heart skipped a beat. Surely she couldn't mean…

She smiled as the incredulous look on his face was slowly replaced by a blush. "You are such an open book, Harry. I find it quite endearing."

She scooted closer to him in the seat. His face was nearly scarlet now, his brain not quite able to believe what he had just heard.

She didn't stop until she was reclining a mere foot away from him. She turned her body to face him, an elbow reclining on the back of the seat. She tucked her knees beneath her, and he noticed that she was barefoot. The faint scent of her perfume reached him. He glanced at the diamonds studding her slender neck, but found it difficult to make eye contact.

"You're talking about sex?" he breathed, his voice sounding astonished even to his own ears.

"I am talking about an afternoon spent in pleasurable pursuits," she replied. "Are you not attracted to me?"

He glanced at her nearly glowing green eyes, feeling like a fly trapped in a spider's web.

"You are very attractive."

"I'm quite aware of it. As I said, I am willing to perform a favor for you in exchange for your time."

His heart began to race. "What favor?" he found himself asking.

"I gather there is not much that you need, or at least not much that I could provide that you could not get elsewhere."

"Okay," he stated, confused.

"I could offer you something you do seem to need, however."

"What's that?"

She reached toward him and brushed a single finger gently down his cheek. He tried not to flinch.

"A measure of independence," she said silkily. "You'll find that a little money makes everything in life easier."

"You…you want to pay me for sex?" he blurted out, feeling as if he had fallen into a surreal dream.

She frowned reprovingly at him. "There's no need to be crass, Harry. Every relationship is a kind of transaction, after all. Do you think me a common whore?"

That was indeed the thought that had crossed his mind, but he dare not voice it. "N-no, not at all."

She smiled. From this distance it seemed almost beatific, lighting up her face in a way that belied the context of their conversation. She caressed his cheek again, and this time he did flinch.

"Good. I would be quite insulted if you thought me a whore. I think you'll find that it is the recipient of the gift who is the whore, not the one providing the gift. But perhaps we are all merely whores in different ways."

He didn't respond, unsure whether she had just called him a whore.

"We need not think in such vulgar terms, Harry. They are not for people like us. We are simply friends exchanging favors. I think you'll find that I'm very generous with my friends."

'And not my enemies' was left unsaid.

"But why me? Why do you want me to be your friend?"

She leaned in closer. Her eyes stared directly into his, and he found himself mesmerized by her gaze. She had a presence unlike anyone else he had encountered. Even Fleur Delacour paled in comparison.

She exhaled in delight, as if she knew his thoughts and was immensely pleased.

"I am a connoisseur of men, Harry," she whispered, her face inches from his. "All sorts of men. Rich men, powerful men, famous men, attractive men. Some are like the finest cabernet, meant to be savored slowly. Others are like a shot of firewhiskey, meant to be swallowed in one gulp. They each have their own unique flavor. I am curious about yours."

He tried to control his racing heart. "You want to…collect me?"

She hummed and leaned back, much to his relief.

"Not precisely. I'm not going to put you on display in my home. I wish to collect an experience from you. Something I can savor, perhaps in a pensieve. Do you know what a pensieve is?"

He nodded.

"Then you know that it allows you to repeat an experience as much as you wish. Well, after a fashion. What is life but a collection of experiences?"

"So you want to experience sex with me, because I'm famous."

"I would not put it precisely that way," she said with a hint of warning. "I am merely a woman who is accustomed to getting what she wants."

She raised an eyebrow, as if daring him to contradict her.

Harry shivered at the look in her eyes. He suddenly understood what it was like for a small animal to be stalked by a much larger predator. He had an overwhelming desire to stay perfectly still.

She smiled her infernal, beautiful smile again. She had him confined without a wand, and he didn't know what to do. There was an absurdly gorgeous woman seducing him, and yet he felt more vulnerable than he ever had in his life.

He had no bodyguards, no emergency portkey, and didn't know how to apparate. A surge of resentment for the incompetence of the Order welled up within him. The only option available was Dobby, and that was a bad idea for many reasons. Phaedra had claimed he was safe, but she might change her mind if he called for help. She also might kill Dobby the moment he appeared. He wasn't even certain the elf could pop into a moving vehicle.

He glanced away from her, taking in the details of his surroundings, and tried to quell his rising panic. He needed to think, and that was very difficult to do while she was watching him.

She gently grabbed his chin and directed his gaze to hers. "Do you feel I am taking advantage of you? Forcing you rather than seducing you?"

He didn't want to answer.

"One forces one's enemies to do things against their will. Am I your enemy?"

"I certainly hope not," he replied sincerely, and she laughed.

"If I wanted to force you, Harry, or to break your will, we would not be having this conversation. Do you know what I would do instead?"

"What?" he asked, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest.

She inclined her head and smiled serenely. "I would kidnap your little muggleborn friend and hold her hostage. Hermione Granger, I believe it is? Her parents are dentists."

"If you…"

She held up a hand, silencing him.

"It would be absurdly easy to harm her, you know. Isn't it odd that there are no wards on her house? None whatsoever. We found her address in a phone book. One might think you didn't truly care for the poor girl."

"Have you hurt her?"

"What makes you think that? I was merely telling you how easy it would be to do so."

Harry stared into her entrancing green eyes. Everything she said had a disconcerting, ambiguous edge to it. Even if she hadn't hurt Hermione, she was clearly saying that she could do so anytime she wished. If that wasn't an implied threat, he didn't know what was.

She smiled with unconcealed delight as she examined his expression.

He felt an urge to fling himself on top of her and strangle her with his bare hands. To crush her delicate, beautiful neck and wipe that smile from her face.

Her smile only grew wider.

"If you do anything to Hermione…"

"You'll do what?"

He just stared at her, his mind racing and his body demanding action.

"I can almost smell your rage, Harry Potter. It's quite impressive."

"Go fuck yourself," he declared, before he could stop himself.

She laughed. "I'd much prefer to fuck you."

He was amazed at her brazenness. It felt odd hearing such crude language coming from such a beautiful face.

Phaedra continued watching him, pleased with the fury in his eyes. "Would you die for her? Trade your life for hers?"

"Do you have her?"

"That is not the question. The question is whether you would die for her. For instance, if I were to release her in exchange for handing you over to the Dark Lord, would that be acceptable to you?"

"You said I was in no danger."

"Maybe I was lying. Maybe I like to play with my food before I eat it."

He glared at her in utmost loathing. "Yes, I would die for her."

"That would be a shameful waste, wouldn't it? And what if I decided I wanted to keep her instead?"

Unnoticed by him, the windows in the back of the limousine were starting to rattle. She seemed unconcerned, leaning closer to him and nearly whispering.

"Tell me, Harry, what would you do to me if I hurt Hermione Granger? What would you do if I had already locked her in a dungeon with my most pitiless men? What if they were using her body right now, while she desperately called out your name to help her?"

Harry went still. He didn't answer for a moment, his green eyes boring intently into hers. On one level he knew she was manipulating his mood for her own pleasure. On another he knew that she was truly dangerous, capable of anything. He felt adrift in a sea of rage and confusion. His only anchor at the moment was defiance.

"I would kill you," he said lowly.

She grinned. "Would you now? And how would you do it? You seem to have misplaced your wand."

His face hardened. His gaze grew as piercing as hers. "If you hurt Hermione, I will strangle you with my bare fucking hands."

Phaedra's eyes dilated with pleasure.

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 **A/N** : There you go. Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I'm anticipating about five. What do you think of Phaedra so far?

Thanks to VotN for his feedback.


	2. Chapter 2

**WARNING** : This story is for mature audiences only. It contains representations of sexual acts and situations.

 **Disclaimer** : I don't own Harry Potter, etc., etc.

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 **Chapter Two:**

She tilted her head and smiled, totally unconcerned with his anger.

"And _there_ he is. The Harry Potter who faces down the Dark Lord and walks away unscathed. I wondered whether he would make an appearance."

Harry exhaled roughly and tried to calm himself. He couldn't tell if she was actually threatening Hermione or just provoking him because he was at her mercy. Either one made him want to rage at her. "I don't care what kind of twisted game you're playing. I don't want to be a part of it."

"Twisted? You do say the nicest things. What makes you think I'm playing a game?"

He didn't answer, his anger still overpowering his confusion.

She leaned away and let her eyes rove over his body again, as if reappraising a valuable work of art. "A lion in the guise of a lamb in the guise of a ragamuffin," she said in seeming admiration. "You are a confusing young man, but an interesting one."

He nearly laughed in her face. He had never been more bewildered by another person in his life. He had no idea what she might do next. He was no longer even certain she had been trying to seduce him.

She watched him with unaffected mirth in her eyes. The tension in their backseat cocoon bled away slightly as they stared at each other. She was forced to break the silence.

"Fear not, Harry. Your little friend is in no danger from me. But you should heed my warning. She is not safe from the Dark Lord."

Something deep within his chest unclenched. For some reason he believed her. He fought the urge to sigh in relief. "I appreciate the warning. I will do something about it."

She inclined her head. "One should always protect one's valuables."

He snorted at her choice of words but did not respond.

"There really is no reason for hostility," she said lightly. "Would you like something to drink? I find myself in need of refreshment."

The sudden shift in mood left him feeling unbalanced. It was almost as if their mutual threats hadn't been exchanged. He wanted out of this witch's sadistic presence if only so he could think straight for a moment. He nodded hesitantly.

"What would you like? I have a delicious cabernet sauvignon, Armagnac, champagne, a sublime vodka…well, just about anything you might want."

"A butterbeer will be fine."

She shot him an amused glance. "I apologize, but I do not keep _butterbeer_ in my limousine."

"I, er, I'll just have whatever you're having then."

She tapped a small cabinet that was built into the barrier in front of them. It opened to reveal a decanter containing a dark liquid and two crystal glasses. She poured them both a modest measure.

"Here. I think you'll find this slightly more refreshing than butterbeer."

He took a tentative sip. It burned going down. He suspected it was some sort of scotch.

"It's quite good, is it not?"

"It's strong."

"It is. An acquired taste, perhaps, but that burn is pleasant once you have become accustomed to it."

He nodded. The tension from moments ago had nearly bled away, as if it had never happened. She was almost treating him with respect. He didn't know what to make of it.

She returned to her relaxed position two feet away from him, tucking her feet beneath her. It was an oddly girlish pose for a beautiful, bejeweled woman in a silk dress. She was close, but he was relieved that she was no longer in his personal space.

She watched him in silence as she sipped her drink. He watched her uncomfortably while he sipped his. He wanted something else—anything else—to occupy his attention, but there was nothing. Despite the soothing alcohol, he felt the tension starting to rise again.

"Are you afraid of me, Harry?" she finally asked.

He didn't want to answer that question honestly. He looked into her eyes again, trying to focus on her beauty rather than her personality. Simply asking him that question seemed to delight her. He had the uncanny feeling that he was conversing with a sane Bellatrix Lestrange.

He cleared his throat, trying to sound confident. "I…don't know if I can trust you. I don't really know you, and frankly, you confuse the hell out of me."

She grinned. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

He took a small sip of his drink but did not respond.

"Do you believe I am in league with the Dark Lord?" she inquired.

He winced at the unexpectedly direct question. "I certainly hope not. But you don't seem like his type."

She laughed loudly, and Harry thought it might be the first frank expression she had allowed him to see.

"The Dark Lord does not have a _type_ as far as I am aware. Unless you count the psychotic devotion of Bellatrix Lestrange. I am quite certain she does not receive that sort of attention from him, though she would no doubt welcome it."

He didn't want to imagine that scenario, or to know how Phaedra Zabini could possibly be aware of what Voldemort did with Bellatrix in private.

She took another sip of her drink. "I have no intention of turning you over to the Dark Lord. He has nothing I want, and I try to avoid involving myself in political squabbles."

'Political squabbles.' He found her answer reassuring nonetheless.

"Plus it would be a shame to mar such beautiful skin with a tattoo, don't you think?"

"I agree."

She smiled at his compliment and downed the rest of her drink. His was still half-full, a fact that she noticed. "You do not care for your drink?"

He took a more substantial sip, his eyes threatening to water at the burn. "It's good. I'm just not used to it."

"The best things in life require some getting used to."

He nodded sagely and looked away, pretending he knew what the hell she was talking about.

She said nothing more for a short while, preferring to watch him. She seemed to enjoy watching him more than talking to him. "Do you have some other reason to be afraid of me?" she asked, just as he was finishing his drink.

He almost coughed. He felt the primal urge to stay still again. He suspected it would be a mistake to mention her reputation as a black widow, but he didn't know what else to say.

"Cat got your tongue, Harry?" she said, not even trying to conceal her amusement.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

He met her eyes again. They seemed to almost glow in the dim light. She looked like she could barely resist the urge to laugh at him.

"Surely you've heard of my reputation. Even I have heard the rumors, though none dare whisper them to me."

"I might have heard…something," he acknowledged.

"What did you hear?"

He felt his face heat up. She was toying with him again, but he didn't want to talk about murder with someone who had actually committed murder. "That you've had seven husbands. All seven of them died in mysterious circumstances."

"There was nothing mysterious about them. They all died of natural or accidental causes. Each time I was devastated."

"Naturally," he agreed.

"Of course, that didn't stop people from speculating. 'Black Widow,' they call me. I personally prefer 'murderess,' don't you? It's got an exotic flavor to it."

"Do you think I'm a murderess?" she added curiously.

"I really have no idea."

"But do you think me capable of it?"

She smiled as he wrestled with his composure, seeking an answer that would not offend her. He looked out the window.

"Given our conversation about Hermione, I would say you are capable of almost anything."

"I told you your friend wasn't in any danger from me. Do you believe I am lying to you?"

"No."

"Rather trusting on your part. But then I am talented at convincing even the most stubborn of men to trust me."

Harry had no doubt that her self-assessment was accurate.

She stared at the ceiling as if lost in thought. "I wonder what the magical world would say if they discovered that Phaedra Zabini had married The-Boy-Who-Lived. Do you think we'd make a good couple, Harry?"

He swallowed thickly. "Some people wouldn't be very happy."

"An understatement if ever I've heard one. But do you think we'd be a well-matched couple?"

"Er, probably not."

She smirked. "Why not? A callow but powerful young wizard in need of guidance; an experienced and sympathetic witch who could guide him to greatness. It sounds like a match made in heaven to me."

Or hell, he thought.

He realized he hadn't answered, and looked over at her cautiously. She was watching him with her damnable smile again.

"You are positively squirming in your seat. It's delightful."

"I think you like playing with your food whether you eat it or not," he muttered resentfully.

She laughed and continued smiling at him.

He glanced out the window again. He thought he still recognized some landmarks. They may not have traveled all that far, which was strangely reassuring.

"Do you intend to propose marriage today, Harry? We're clearly well-matched."

He almost rolled his eyes. "Perhaps not today, Phaedra."

"A pity. I suppose we should just be friends then. It might irritate some powerful people if you were to take advantage of a helpless widow."

"Yes, it would."

"Well, if we aren't going to celebrate our nuptials any time soon, I suppose you have no reason to be afraid of me. Isn't that so?"

"I suppose so," he said, turning to glance at her.

He didn't want to acknowledge that he was _definitely_ afraid of this woman, even if she might not pose the same kind of threat that Voldemort did.

She watched as his emotions played out across his face. "You are such an open book, dear boy. As I said, it's quite endearing."

He blushed but held her gaze defiantly. He hated being so easy to read for people like her, but he was a Gryffindor. He preferred direct, decisive action, not subtle manipulation. She was playing him like a musical instrument, and he hated it.

"Quite so," she said, her pupils dilating again. "You are like a small but fine Stradivarius, a little worn and badly in need of tuning but an exquisite instrument nevertheless."

Harry suddenly felt like his stomach might drop out of his body. He hadn't… "You've been using legilimency on me," he said in horror, his heart pounding.

She looked delighted at the expression on his face. "Of course I have. How else am I supposed to satisfy my curiosity?"

His nostrils flared and he had the urge to strangle her again. He hated people tampering with his mind. Snape. Dumbledore. Voldemort. Each had done it, and it never resulted in anything good for him. "Have you _satisfied_ your curiosity yet?"

She raised an eyebrow at the shift in his mood, but appeared unconcerned. "I am very far from satisfied. This barely qualifies as foreplay, in fact."

He blushed again, his anger replaced by discomfort. He had momentarily forgotten her proposition, unsure whether to take it seriously. "I don't appreciate people fiddling with my mind."

"I have not _fiddled_ with it," she said with some exasperation. "I have not searched for your secrets. I am simply getting to know you."

He took a deep breath, trying to control his emotions.

"There is no need to be angry with me, Harry. I could have killed you the moment you came into my possession. You were at my mercy. Clearly I have no interest in harming you."

"At least not at the moment," she added coyly.

"I came into your possession rather unwillingly."

"At first, perhaps, but it would be difficult for me to liaise with you at Hogwarts, would it not? Your point is moot, because soon you will be very willing indeed."

He sighed and tried to relax into the seat. It seemed he had no choice but to play along with her game. For now, at least. "If you say so."

She tilted her head politely at his acquiescence. "May I offer you another drink? Sometimes young men need liquid courage, even if they are Gryffindors."

He accepted her offer. He had little experience with alcohol, but the idea of something that would calm his nerves was very welcome. She poured them both another measure of whatever they were drinking, then reclined into her casual position again. Her eyes met his as she sipped her drink. He found it difficult to look away, even when he knew what she was doing. She had already seen what he thought of her.

"Perhaps you should take steps to fortify your mind if you don't like my presence there."

He took a sip of the bitter drink. "I have. It didn't work out so well."

"That's a shame."

"I can't even feel whatever it is you're doing. I'm usually aware of it when someone invades my mind."

"I do appreciate the compliment, but I am not really invading your mind. I'm barely touching it, in fact. You are broadcasting your thoughts like a beacon. A muggle could read your mind."

He frowned, not knowing how to respond to that. How was he supposed to hide his own thoughts from himself?

Her grin returned. "Have you considered my offer, Harry? I hope my hospitality has convinced you that you are in no danger from me."

"Your offer?"

"Come now, don't be obtuse."

"I wasn't certain if you were serious or just toying with me."

"Both, of course."

He realized with dread that her proposition appeared to be genuine. Why in Merlin's name would she want to sleep with him, much less pay him for it? He knew there was a trap here, but he couldn't see it.

He closed his eyes. Here we go, he thought. If anybody's listening, I could use a phoenix and a sword right about now.

He thought furiously, trying to discover some way out of his predicament. She was proposing to sleep with him, not murder him, but his impulse to resist was just as strong. He knew how dangerous she was, how little he could trust her. She may or may not have threatened to kill him and his friends already. Maybe if he delayed the inevitable long enough, help would arrive.

He opened his eyes, careful not to look into hers. Her beautiful necklace made an excellent substitute.

"Do you need an answer right now, or do I have time to consider?"

"You have a little time perhaps, but not much. We can't have you reported as missing, after all."

Harry pondered that answer. If she was considering the consequences of his absence, that might mean she had no intention of harming him. It might also mean she was misleading him, for her own amusement or worse.

She smiled as she watched him think. "You don't have much experience with witches, do you?"

"No."

"Why not? A famous young man like yourself, not bad looking, destined to be powerful. There should be no shortage of willing witches. Or perhaps you prefer wizards."

"I, er, no. I just have some other things on my mind, I guess."

"I suppose you do."

Her eyes roved his body again. "Forgive my impertinence, Harry, but I really must know. Am I to understand that you have no experience _at all_ with women?"

She could read the answer in his eyes. She smiled genuinely this time, as if he had just given her a priceless engagement ring. It was the most terrifying smile he had ever seen. Her dazzling teeth looked almost sharp in the dim light.

"I, er…just one kiss," he said weakly.

"Just one kiss," she repeated. "How unfortunate."

He could hear the gentle mockery in her voice. "Was it at least a good one?"

"It was…okay," he replied, remembering the awkward moment with Cho. That situation could not have been more different than the one he was in.

"You are 16, Harry. That is quite old enough to become a man. My own son became one at 14."

He did not find the thought comforting. He really didn't want to think about Blaise at the moment.

"He would never know about our liaison, of course," she continued. "I do not wish to cause trouble for him or for you."

She inched closer to him again, the movement subtly drawing his attention to her breasts. They pressed against her shimmering dress, but revealed only the faintest hint of their contours.

He tensed as she grew closer. She was back in his personal space, leaning forward to put her face inches from his.

"Look at me," she said softly.

Harry slowly looked up at her face, unable to resist. There was no denying that she was a breathtakingly beautiful woman. Her dark skin was flawless, despite the fact that she was old enough to be his mother. His heart began pounding in his ears.

She gently cupped his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. They were intense with something he had never seen before. Something feral but, for the moment, contained. He licked his lips nervously, acutely aware of her physical presence. Her body itself seemed to radiate some sort of magic. He was slowly growing aroused, despite his discomfort.

She looked into his face for what seemed an eternity. Finally her lip curled and he saw the sparkling mirth return to her unnaturally green eyes. He had no idea what she would do next. He was surprised when her face retreated a few inches.

"This is a very advantageous offer for you, Harry. I have money; you do not. I have experience; you do not. Do you not wish to gain a little experience with a beautiful woman?"

He had no answer to her question. If he had received such an offer from another older woman—well, someone like Tonks, he supposed, not Molly Weasley—he might have given in by now. But this woman had the capacity to kill him at any time, despite her stunning beauty. And yet his body had reacted the moment she touched him. He felt like it was betraying him.

"I am an _exceptional_ lover, Harry Potter," she whispered. "There are many men who would pay _me_ for the opportunity to touch my body. And I am offering to pay you. No doubt you feel that I am being manipulative. That's what seduction is. There is always predator and prey."

There was no question which role he was playing at the moment. His hands were almost shaking as his mind tried to power through the confusion that her words provoked in him. He was becoming more aroused despite his deep loathing for her, or perhaps because of it. He didn't understand her motives.

She smiled. "You are not yet ready to submit, are you? But you are close. So very close."

He looked away, resolving to get himself out of the situation somehow.

"Perhaps you fancy someone?" she inquired. "Would you feel it a betrayal to satisfy your desires with me?"

"No. I would only put a girlfriend in danger." His own voice sounded hoarse to his ears.

"Then why do you resist? Are you worried that you'll put me in danger?"

He snorted. Phaedra was no doubt the most dangerous woman in any room she entered.

"Your reluctance really makes little sense. You have a chance to satisfy your lusts on a willing and beautiful witch, one who is in no danger from your enemies, and you will receive a substantial gift in return. I don't see any downside for you."

He swallowed heavily and glanced at her. Outside of his fear, he couldn't articulate the reasons for his refusal, even to himself. This sort of thing happened only in his fantasies, and never with someone who was so dangerous. Never with someone who was so beautiful, in fact.

"I see," she said. "Self-loathing, then. You are ashamed of yourself for wanting me. Ashamed for being afraid of me and yet wanting me all the same. Perhaps you did not expect your first time to be with a witch you do not love?"

He winced and looked away. He knew he had to stop looking into her eyes, but it was so difficult to avoid them.

She leaned in close to him again, caressing his cheek softly. He closed his eyes and shivered as she whispered into his ear.

"We are not talking about love, Harry Potter. We are talking about an experience that you badly want. We both know I could do whatever I wanted with you. But I don't want to force my will on you. I want you to submit to your desire for me. Why do you fight it? No one will ever know that I conquered you. Only we will know."

His throat suddenly felt very dry. If she could sense his desire, she must also surely be able to sense his resolve. He refused to be conquered by _anyone_. And yet a primal part of him wanted to submit to her and do whatever she asked of him. His mind felt at war with itself. This was a kind of subtle torture he had never imagined.

"I know you want me, Harry," she whispered softly. "You can't deny it. I have seen it in your mind. Do you not want to see what's under my dress? Do you not want to touch me?"

She smiled at the contortions on his face. "Give me your hand."

He hesitantly lifted a hand. She grabbed it gently and placed it on her knee, then slowly pushed it higher, until it slipped beneath her dress and rested on her naked thigh.

He stared at the outline of his hand beneath her dress. Her skin was softer than he thought possible, and seemed to radiate heat. She let his hand remain there for a long moment, then released it. He removed it from her body with some reluctance.

"You won't have to imagine the rest, if only you submit," she said, watching him carefully.

He met her eyes with an unreadable expression but didn't respond. His pulse thumped wildly as they stared at each other.

"Merlin, you are strong. Surely you see why you captured my interest. I have made a generous offer; one that benefits both of us. Are you not tempted?"

She ran a finger slowly down his chest. It barely connected with him, but it felt scaldingly hot.

He nearly stopped breathing as her finger reached his lower abdomen. She trailed it along the belt that held up his jeans and dropped her eyes to admire his obvious arousal. His erection was pressing tightly against the fabric. Something deep in his abdomen was aching with desire, demanding to be released. He pushed the feeling away with sheer obstinacy.

She watched his face as she continued running her finger slowly along his belt. She had barely touched his body, but he was breathing heavily and trying not to look at her. She pressed her face closer to his. "Look at me."

He reluctantly looked into her eyes again.

"I know what my words are doing to you, Harry. Your cock is begging me to touch it. You're going to burst soon from my words alone. Imagine what it would feel like if I released it from its prison and caressed it."

"I…can't."

"You can," she replied, looking deeply into his eyes. "I do not eat my prey after I catch them, despite what you may think of me. But I do enjoy the chase. I'm certain you are enjoying it equally. Aren't you?"

He wrestled for self-control. He found he could no longer look away from her eyes. They seemed to hold endless depths. He wanted to surrender to her, and yet felt desperate to escape. Her nostrils flared slightly, as if she were savoring the scent of his confusion, fear, and lust.

He had never felt more hunted. No patronus could protect him from himself. He tried to look away, but found that he didn't want to. Her hand dropped from his belt and she rubbed a single finger along the length of his erection. He squirmed in his seat, angry at himself for wanting her to continue.

"You are mine now, aren't you, Harry Potter?" she whispered.

She gently caressed him with her finger, barely touching him through his jeans. Then she pulled back, both her finger and her body, giving him some space. He almost panted, trying to regain his composure.

She watched him with an amused smirk. "You were about to make a mess of yourself. From my words alone. Do you want me to stop?"

"No," he whispered hoarsely, the words escaping his mouth before he could even consider them.

"I thought so. Does that mean you have agreed to my proposition?"

He closed his eyes. "What happens if I say no?"

He could hear the mirth in her voice. "And why would you want to do that? You would never know what might have happened, and you would regret it for the rest of your life."

He opened his eyes and met her gaze intently. "That isn't what I asked."

She smiled widely, all teeth. "I suppose I could find it in my heart to return you to your home. I'm sure you have some chores that need doing. But that isn't what you want, is it?"

"How do I know you would just let me go?"

"I guess you'll just have to trust me."

Harry's head swam as he stared at her. His body knew exactly what it wanted. But his mind was a different matter. He didn't think she intended to harm him herself. But she could just as easily deliver him to someone who would. He turned over various scenarios in his head as he tried to find something solid to latch onto. He desperately wished he had some legilimency skills of his own. Her eyes were impenetrable to him. He simply had no idea how much he could trust her, no matter how much he wanted to touch her body.

She watched the battle play out behind his eyes. He didn't bother trying to hide it from her. She smiled coyly and ran a finger along her thigh, her dress inching up to reveal what lay beneath. He glanced down at her bared flesh and she saw the exact moment that he surrendered.

"If…if you give me your word that you will not harm me or my friends, then…yes, I accept."

"Harm you?" she repeated. She leaned over to whisper in his ear again. He shivered at the feel of her warm breath. "My dear boy, I am going to give you such pleasure you will beg to stay with me forever."

He breathed out roughly. His resistance collapsing, he could feel something rising from deeply within him. It quivered and writhed and wanted out. He didn't know what would happen now, and he almost didn't care. He didn't quite register that she had given him no promises.

She leaned back, a look of smug satisfaction adorning her perfect face.

"I have acquired a suite in a nearby hotel. I thought it prudent to remain somewhat in the vicinity of your home. We have in fact been circling the hotel for the past twenty minutes. Would you like to join me inside?"

"Yes," he almost whispered.

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Minutes later, Harry followed Phaedra through the lobby of a posh hotel. Her bodyguard loomed behind him, almost daring him to try something. He didn't know where they were, but he assumed they had traveled through Greater Whinging into the outskirts of London. There was no place like this near his home. The floors were made of gleaming marble, as were the pillars that ascended high into the ceiling.

They stepped into an empty elevator and Phaedra pressed the top button. Obviously nothing less than the penthouse would suit her needs.

Harry felt a complex flood of emotions. Dread was prominent. He felt like a man who had just been condemned to death, but also like a prisoner who had received a last-second reprieve. Anticipation was building in him so strongly that he could barely feel his disgust and self-loathing. A deep-seated thrill had replaced them. He knew that anything might happen next. He might lose his virginity to the most darkly alluring witch he had ever laid eyes on, or he might find himself surrounded by Death Eaters.

At last they arrived at their stop. The entire top floor belonged to Phaedra. They stepped out into a palatial room that was easily as big as the Dursley's house. Her guard remained by the entrance.

"Follow me, Harry," she commanded, and led him across the hall to a door.

She opened it and then stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter.

He glanced apprehensively inside. It appeared to be an innocuous master bedroom with a huge bed.

She smiled. "After you. You are my guest, after all."

He nodded and entered the room, his anticipation and dread threatening to overwhelm him.

He never saw the spell that hit him in the back.

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 **A/N** : My apologies, but I can't resist a good cliffhanger. Hope you're enjoying the story so far. I'd love to hear what you think. Thanks to VotN for his valuable feedback.


	3. Chapter 3

**WARNING:** This story is for mature audiences only. It contains representations of sexual acts and situations.

 **Disclaimer** : I don't own Harry Potter, etc., etc.

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 **Chapter Three:**

Harry woke with a gasp. The last thing he remembered was walking into a hotel bedroom with Phaedra Zabini.

He looked around warily, almost expecting to see Voldemort pointing a wand at him. Instead he appeared to be alone in the same room he had entered. He sighed and let his head fall back onto the pillow.

With a start, he realized that he was lying on his back in a bed, completely nude. And not just lying on it. His arms and legs were tied to the bedposts with some sort of restraint, leaving him sprawled out and helpless. His sense of relief dissipated instantly.

He examined the room more closely, trying to quash his fear. It was large and decorated to suit the tastes of the very rich. The sound of running water stopped and he craned his neck to find the source. There was a closed bathroom door with light peeking from beneath it. A moment later it opened and Phaedra Zabini stepped into the room. Her hair remained in its immaculate braid, but her dress was gone, replaced by a thick white bathrobe that contrasted strikingly with her skin.

"Ah, you're awake. I was expecting you to be out for another ten minutes at least."

He wasn't willing to admit to himself how relieved he was to see her and not someone else. Even so, his desire for her had been replaced by alarm. Now that he could think clearly, he realized he might have made a huge mistake.

"Why am I tied to the bed?"

"Are you not comfortable? The restraints shouldn't be painful."

Harry pulled on his arms and noticed that his bonds, which seemed to be made of silk, allowed him to move a few inches in any direction. It was the position itself that was mortifying, and the fact that she had undressed him while he was unconscious.

"That didn't answer my question," he said curtly.

She sat on the edge of the bed and trailed a single finger along his abdomen. "I think you already know the answer."

"I didn't agree to be tied down."

She leaned closer to him. "Perhaps not, but this is indeed what you want. You are totally at my mercy. I could do anything I wanted with you. Not even your loyal house elf could stop me."

He tried not to react. "What are you going to do to me?"

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes unreadable. "Perhaps I'll summon the Dark Lord. Or perhaps Bellatrix Lestrange? I imagine she could find a use for your body. You might even enjoy it."

Despite his position, he knew she was still manipulating him. She could have turned him over to Voldemort long before now. But that didn't mean she wouldn't betray him later, after he had served his purpose.

"You promised I was in no danger," he said uncertainly.

She ran a finger across his chest, tracing the sparse hair there. "Perhaps I was lying. You are a rather trusting young man, aren't you?"

He tried to control his growing unease as she examined his body from head to toe, her eyes resting finally on his exposed cock. He could almost feel her gaze touch his skin. She returned her attention to his face with an amused smile.

"Wouldn't you like to fuck Bellatrix, Harry? Maybe she's waiting in the next room. Would you like to spill your seed inside her before she tortures you?"

"No." He had no doubt that she knew exactly what he thought of his godfather's murderer.

"Are you sure?"

Her finger made its way to his cock, where she slowly traced its length, applying only the gentlest pressure. It took mere moments to grow hard. She laughed softly and teased him with a feather-light touch. His erection pressed against her finger, as if demanding more attention.

"Your cock is making a liar out of you. Hate is a powerful aphrodisiac."

He glared at her in helpless fury.

"Nothing to say, Harry?"

"No."

"Don't pout, dear boy. I could cut this pretty little thing off and feed it to you if the whim struck me. You should be doing everything in your power to please me, don't you think?"

She squeezed his cock gently and it throbbed against her hand. She smiled and leaned in close to his face, so close that he could see his reflection in her eyes. "You seem to have forgotten your manners, Harry Potter. You have submitted to me and I have promised to meet your needs. Do you wish to renege on our agreement?"

"No," he whispered, torn between loathing and desire. He tried to focus on what her hand was doing to his body and not what its owner was capable of.

"No? You sound unsure of yourself."

"Please. Just don't…do anything to me."

"That would rather defeat the purpose of your being here, wouldn't it?"

She rubbed her nose against his in a gesture of mock affection. For a moment he thought she was going to kiss him. Instead she leaned back to examine the cock she held in her hand. She lifted it by the tip, so that it was pointing in the air, and inspected it more closely.

"A good size," she mused. "Not too large, not too small, and thick. It would be a shame to mar such a specimen, I suppose."

She returned her gaze to him. "What would you like me to do to it instead?"

He resented the secret thrill that her question provoked—the thrill of being on display before a beautiful woman, her attention on his cock. He stared down at it, still held upright by a single finger. He had allowed her to seduce him with promises of pleasure, but there was no telling what that word meant to her. He damned his foolishness and held his tongue.

"Well?"

"Whatever you want," he ventured hesitantly.

"A dangerously broad answer. I want a great many things."

She let go of him and traced her finger along the underside of his length again. Then she gently grabbed his balls, testing their weight, before rubbing her palm up and down his cock.

"Pleasure is a funny thing, isn't it?" she said softly, almost to herself. "You loathe me right now, even though I am giving your body what it wants. I could satisfy its desires, or I could deny them until you beg me for release. You don't like being at my mercy, do you?"

"No."

She smiled and gazed into his eyes again. "Now that's not entirely true. You can't hide from me, Harry. I have already seen what's behind your eyes. I know what you need."

He tried to look away but couldn't. He had only the faintest inkling of what she meant. She removed her hand from his cock, and the loss left him strangely disappointed.

"Do you want me to continue?"

He winced. "Yes."

She stared at him impassively for a long moment. "I don't believe you. Perhaps it would be better if I just left you here, wondering if each moment would be your last. Or maybe I'll just watch you until you beg for my touch."

"Please don't," he said. The words tasted like poison.

"Hmmm," she mused, her hand returning to his arousal. "Better, but we're not quite there yet. You're a stubborn little Gryffindor, aren't you?"

Her smile became almost joyful. "I'm not going to fulfill your body's desires until you beg me for it, Harry. One cannot beg begrudgingly. It is only sincere when one absolutely _must_ have one's needs fulfilled."

She began stroking him, slowly and intently, as she watched his face. "Does that feel good?"

"Yes," he answered, knowing it was pointless to lie. His cock was pulsing against her grip, his need for release growing. His fear of her did nothing to abate his desire.

She stared at him in silence as she caressed his cock almost lovingly, a pleased expression on her face. Soon he felt that familiar ache build and his breathing quickened.

"You're going to cum, aren't you?"

His body tensed and he closed his eyes in anticipation.

She grabbed the head of his cock between two fingers and squeezed hard. His eyes shot open and he gasped. The feeling of imminent orgasm ebbed as the blood retreated from his swollen head.

She smiled at his shock. "Not yet. Not until I say so. Do you understand?"

He nodded and looked away. He was in no position to disagree.

She commenced stroking him again, her hand wrapped around his shaft with the gentlest of grips. "Look at me, Harry. Don't look away."

He did his best to keep his eyes locked on hers. He didn't sense her rifling through his memories, but still she seemed aware of what he was feeling.

He didn't warn her when he felt his orgasm approach again, hoping she would be caught unaware. She wasn't. She squeezed his head unmercifully and he hissed.

"Did I give you permission?" she asked politely.

"No," he said, panting.

Phaedra began stroking him yet again, this time using her thumb to caress the underside of his crown. He watched her hand manipulate him, her soft touch maddening. She tilted his chin up with a finger, reminding him to look into her eyes.

"It hurts when I squeeze, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

The next time his orgasm approached, he bucked his hips into her hand. "Please," he gasped.

Yet again she denied him. He gritted his teeth as she squeezed his swollen head until he almost lost his erection. He wanted to rage at her, to call her unspeakable names, but he held his tongue. Her little game couldn't last forever.

She smiled at the resentment in his eyes and caressed him again, her hands gently cupping his balls as if they were her most valuable possession. Two fingers moved to his cock and tugged on it delicately, attempting to delay his body's response for as long as possible. She gripped him harder when he returned to full arousal. A minute later he tensed, his cock aching and his need for release building to a desperate crescendo.

"Please," he whispered, and closed his eyes. "Please. Don't stop this time. I'm…begging you."

"Yes, you are," she agreed. "Look at me."

Harry opened his eyes and held her gaze defiantly, hoping this torment would end. The pace of her stroking increased.

"You want to cum now, don't you?"

"Please."

"Then cum, Harry Potter. Make a mess of yourself. Keep your eyes open and show me your pleasure."

His body obeyed her words. It took only a moment for the delicious ache to come howling from his gut and overpower him. He stared into her glowing eyes as she pulled on him with quick, powerful strokes.

She pointed his cock forward, toward his face, as bursts of white erupted from deep within him and spurted into the air. He panted raggedly as she released the tension that felt like it had been smothering him. She panted right along with him. His gaze locked on hers, he didn't even notice as his release arced onto his own face and neck and coated his chest in thick stripes.

He sighed as the last of it oozed out and created a growing pool in his belly button. She pressed a finger gently under the base of his tip and massaged, somehow extending the sensation of orgasm. He flinched and closed his eyes, finally able to savor the relief she had granted him.

When he opened them again, she was watching him with the stunning smile that he was growing to hate. A light sheen of sweat on her skin made her beauty glow.

"Quite an impressive show. Did you enjoy that?" she asked, her eyes boring into his.

"You already know the answer, don't you?"

"Of course, but I want to hear you admit it."

"Yes." He couldn't find it in himself to feel humiliated, even if that had been her intention. The euphoria of his relief was such that he was almost grateful to her.

She trailed a finger along his wet, sloppy chest, scooping up a pool of his cum. She watched it with seeming fascination as it slowly dripped from her finger. Only then did he notice the state he was in. He was covered in his own cum. It was on his neck and his chin. Thick shining stripes of it glistened on his chest.

She placed a small pool of his release on her tongue and swallowed. "Magical," she whispered with a grin.

She raked another finger across his chest, coating it with his release, and then reached toward his face. He instinctively turned his head to the side.

"Ah, ah," she warned. "Taste it."

Harry grimaced. "I…"

"Taste it," she commanded, and he reluctantly opened his mouth.

She smeared his own release across his tongue, wiping her fingers on it. "Swallow."

He did, trying not to show his disgust.

"You're cruel," he said lowly.

She smiled as if he had paid her a compliment. "Why did you doubt it?"

The silence dragged out as they watched each other, but it lacked tension. She seemed oddly pleased with him. Some small part of him was proud of that, though he didn't understand why.

"What now?" he asked.

She stood and put her hands on the ties holding her bathrobe closed. "Now I show you what is hidden beneath this robe. Do you wish to see?"

She raised an eyebrow when he didn't answer.

"Yes."

"Are you sure? Mortals cannot gaze upon the unclothed goddess and live," she said playfully.

He tried not to roll his eyes. Instead he focused on her hands, his anticipation building. She pulled. The robe fell open and she shrugged it to the ground.

Beneath it she was totally nude. Her dark skin glistened in the light, delicately glazed with some sort of oil. His eyes roved her body hungrily, and he slowly grew hard again despite what she had just done to him.

Her body was perfect. Her legs were long and fit; her breasts full and not conceding an inch to gravity or age. Dark nipples stood out proudly, displaying their arousal and almost begging to be touched. Between her legs was a bare mound of flesh that teased him with its contours. The underside of her sex peeked at him through the gap between her legs.

"You're beautiful," he whispered unconsciously.

Her eyes shined with pride. "I know. You want to touch me now, don't you?"

"You know I do."

"Rather unfortunate, then, that you are tied down."

"Release me," he said, his eyes meeting hers again.

"Never. You will never lay a finger on my body, no matter how pathetically you beg for it."

"Why?"

"You wouldn't understand the answer, dear boy. But you will beg, and you will learn to take delight in my denial."

She crawled onto the bed and stood on her knees, straddling his body but not touching him. He lifted his head and watched as she reached between her legs and gently teased herself. Between her spread fingers she exposed the barest hint of her dark clit, already swollen. He watched with rapt attention as she reached further down and pressed a finger inside herself, the wet sound making Harry ache with renewed desire. She withdrew it and reached forward, placing it beneath his nose.

"Breathe," she said.

He inhaled the scent of her arousal and his desperation to touch her only grew. The musky scent made him want to bury his face between her legs. Instead he could only watch her smile at his helplessness.

She withdrew her finger and settled her body against his, her hips straddling him. Her hands moved slowly along her own body, from her thighs to her hips to her breasts, as if in worship. She cupped them and massaged their fullness, her nipples sliding back and forth between her fingers. The sight made him struggle against his restraints.

"You want to feel them, don't you? To fill your hands with them."

"Yes," he answered thickly.

She leaned forward until her face was within inches of his and her breasts brushed close to his chest. He could feel her nipples just barely grazing him. He wetted his lips, thinking she was going to kiss him.

"You think yourself worthy of tasting my tongue?"

"Please," he breathed, his fear of her dispelled by the raw need her presence was provoking. Again he wondered if there was something magical in her allure.

She leaned forward until her lips were on the very verge of touching his. "Only my husbands kiss me, and then not for long," she whispered. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

She laughed softly at the anguished expression that crossed his face. "Your body is at my disposal, Harry Potter. But mine is not at yours, no matter how much you wish it were."

Her face pulled away and she returned to her straddling position. "You will have to dream about what it's like to touch my body."

She dropped her full weight on him and he sighed. His cock was pressed against his abdomen, but he could feel the heat between her legs. She began gently rocking her hips back and forth, and he again looked down to see what was happening.

"No. You don't get to see."

He reluctantly looked back to her face. Her eyes were alight with something that thrilled and scared him in equal measure. He held her gaze, even though he was desperate to stare between her legs.

He focused instead on what her body was doing to him. She slid her wet folds backwards and forwards across his length, slowly and languorously, coating him with her arousal. He felt her lips spread around his cock, engulfing him and giving way before his girth. Her clit pressed against him every time she thrust her hips. The little sound she made in response caused him to yank against his restraints again.

Her pace sped up and her breathing grew heavier. "You want to touch me so badly you can't stand it. I can see it."

"Please, let me go," he said, desperate to grab her breasts and feel her nipples press against his palms.

"Never."

She arched her back and thrust her breasts forward, squeezing them with her hands. Her hips ground into him roughly, her movements almost violent as she slid along his length.

The friction was too much for him to bear, even if she had not allowed him to penetrate her. He felt another orgasm approach relentlessly.

She moaned and leaned forward, pressing her clit firmly against him. Her body shuddered and her eyes finally closed. He closed his own and savored the sensation of her soaked lips contracting against him. It was enough to undo him. He spurted again onto his chest and abdomen, his release as strong as his first.

He exhaled deeply and looked up at her. She too was panting, but did not stop rocking her hips and sliding along his length, now sticky and coated with the fluids of their bodies.

She gazed down at him with hooded eyes, her expression unreadable. "You made a mess of yourself again."

"I don't care. You don't know what you're doing to me," he said hoarsely.

Her amused smile returned. "I'm certain that I do. You are desperate to be inside me, aren't you, Harry Potter?"

"Yes," he said, not bothering to conceal how much he wanted it. He no longer cared how expertly she was pulling his strings.

"I don't think you want it that badly," she mused, her rocking continuing.

"What do you need to hear, Phaedra? Please."

He wondered suddenly how many other men had been in this position—teased and manipulated until they felt compelled to grovel for her attention. He looked deeply into her eyes, trying to discern what lay behind them, but they would not reveal their secrets.

"You're not half as clever as you think you are," she said with a mocking smile. "What would your little muggleborn think, if she could see you right now? The-Boy-Who-Lived, tied to a bed and begging me to sate his basest desires."

He winced and looked away, not wanting her to see the thoughts that flashed across his mind. "I don't know."

"Look at me."

She stared into his eyes, her pupils narrowing to nothing this time. He felt exposed in a way that made his nudity insignificant.

"Oh, but you do know. She would be appalled, wouldn't she? To see her friend submit so completely to his lusts."

Harry's face heated up against his will. No matter how much he trusted Hermione, he couldn't imagine describing the events of the afternoon to her. He had no idea how she might react.

"I see what else you know too. You _want_ her to see you like this, don't you? You want to know what she'd think of the real Harry Potter."

He slowly grew hard between her legs again.

Phaedra laughed with genuine delight and leaned her face close to his. "What if she's been watching this whole time? What if she's disillusioned in the corner, so appalled and turned on she can barely stand it?"

"Stop," he whispered. He was dismayed at the effect her words were having on his body, as if something long hidden were being exposed.

Her smile widened. "Do you want her to take command of you as I have? Maybe I should send her a memory of our little liaison."

"Don't. Please."

She laughed softly and almost pressed her nose against his. "I know you better than you know yourself, Harry. You laid bare your soul to me before we even reached this bed. You may be young, but you are not unlike other powerful men. I know your secret."

"What?" he asked weakly, unable to look away from her shining green eyes.

"You are a fighter, but your deepest need is to surrender—for someone else to shoulder the burden of being you. You gave me control because you liked it. For once in your life, you want to feel the blessed relief of slavery."

He snorted at her words in disbelief, barely understanding them, but not willing to examine them too closely.

"Nothing to say?" she asked, her hips thrusting gently into him.

"No."

"It's hard to be at war with oneself, isn't it? No matter. You will see the truth in time."

She leaned back and straddled him fully again. He breathed a sigh as the wet warmth between her legs pressed against him. She slid along his hard length slowly, and he couldn't help but stare as her wetness coated him again.

She followed his gaze. "You are desperate to know what it feels like in there, aren't you?"

"You know I am," he said hoarsely.

"It's like a velvet glove made to squeeze you. So warm and tight you won't be able to stand it, and yet you'll never want to leave. Do you think you're deserving of such pleasure?"

"Dear God, Phaedra. Stop talking and put it in."

She laughed at the look of raw need on his face. She leaned forward and pulled his cock upright with one hand, then rubbed his swollen head across her lips, giving him just a hint of the heat that lay within.

"What would you do to feel that?" she whispered.

"Anything."

Satisfied with his response, she pressed the tip of his cock into her soaked folds. He felt himself slip inside her and tried not to gasp. She watched his face and slowly slid down his length until he filled her completely.

"Oh, my God."

The sensation was indescribable. She gripped him with a tightness that could never compare with his hand. It was too warm and too soft, squeezing him from all directions in a way he didn't think possible.

"Look at me," she commanded. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open. He wanted to close them and feel this way forever. He reluctantly stared into her eyes.

She rotated her hips, moving him around inside her. He could feel her stretching to accommodate him. The little wet sounds produced by her movements threatened to drive him wild. He groaned, wanting more than anything in the world to be free—to grab her breasts and her hips, to shove his tongue in her mouth and to drive his cock into her incredible heat over and over.

"Please," he begged. "Release me."

She smiled and rocked her hips again, then rose until he almost spilled out of her. She slid back down slowly, savoring every inch, until he filled her again.

Harry pulled against his restraints until his muscles felt like they might snap. "Please, let me touch you," he moaned, his eyes closing again.

"Never. Look at me. Show me what I'm doing to you."

He didn't know how to obey her, except to look in her eyes and focus on how incredibly soft she felt, and how much he wanted to touch her but couldn't.

She rode him slowly, staring into his eyes with a faint smile, never increasing her pace, but moving so deliberately that Harry felt it was torture. Each time he filled her he exhaled, needing more.

He tried to thrust his hips into hers when she dropped her weight on him, to feel himself slide into her as far as he could, but his position gave him no leverage.

"So eager," she said, her breath starting to come faster. "The-Boy-Who-Lived wants to fuck me like an animal."

"Please, Phaedra."

Her eyes sparkled with mirth. "Beg."

"Damn you."

"So powerless. And yet you like it, don't you?"

She stilled, leaving him sheathed within her. "Perhaps I'll stop now. You wouldn't like that at all, would you?"

Harry groaned, knowing she was perfectly capable of extending this exquisite misery as long as she wanted. He could bear it no longer. He was sick with desire to touch her and his patience was at an end.

She smiled at the rage and lust on his face.

Barely aware of what he was doing, he growled and commanded his magic to obey him. There was a tangible surge of power in the room, and the straps restraining his hands and feet snapped.

Phaedra's smile disappeared and her eyes widened as he broke free and roughly grabbed her breasts.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

 **A/N:** You didn't think Harry was going to take that lying down, did you?

Before you yell at me for making him too submissive, keep in mind that Phaedra's insights into his psychology are skewed by her own experiences.

More importantly—was it hot?

Thanks to VotN for his valuable feedback. There will be two more chapters, and more at stake than just sex.


	4. Chapter 4

**WARNING:** This story is for mature audiences only. It contains representations of sexual acts and situations.

 **Disclaimer** : I don't own Harry Potter, etc., etc.

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There was a moment of charged silence as both realized what had happened. Lust was overwhelmed by shock. Harry could not tell if it lasted two seconds or twenty. He stared at his hands on Phaedra's breasts, stunned to see them there, and then looked up to meet her eyes.

She had stilled completely above him, his cock fully sheathed within her. She did not speak. He couldn't name the expression he saw on her face. Anger, shock, excitement, fear—it could have been anything. But her eyes promised murder.

She rolled off him in a blur of movement. He rolled with her, his instincts telling him that he was suddenly in a fight for his life. An arm reached out and he grabbed it by the wrist. A leg kicked and he wrestled it into submission with his own. Then the world seemed to stop. He had but a moment to register that he was on top of her, his weight pinning her to the bed, when he felt the tip of a wand press into his neck.

He stilled instantly. The wand tip grew blazing hot, searing his skin. He hissed in pain but didn't dare move. He was stunned at how quickly the situation had spiraled out of control, how his unbridled desire to touch her had escalated into violence. He hadn't even meant to wrestle with her; some survival instinct had overcome him before he could think.

"Don't," he whispered hoarsely, his breathing heavy and panicked. It was the only word that came to mind, and he hoped it conveyed the desperate plea within it.

Their eyes met. Her pupils had narrowed to black pinpricks surrounded by a green inferno. Her gaze felt like it had the power to light him on fire.

"Please," he whispered, and gently released her wrist.

The wand at his neck only grew hotter. He grimaced as he smelled his own burning flesh. It felt like he was being branded. He could feel her heaving chest beneath his, but was too afraid to lift his weight off her without her permission.

The fire in her eyes slowly abated, but still he did not move. He had no idea what he needed to say to save his own life. He only knew that the little game Phaedra had been playing with him had been replaced by something far more serious.

"I could remove your head from your shoulders in an instant," she said slowly.

"I know," he pleaded, wincing at the agony in his neck. "Please. Don't. I'm begging."

The unbearable heat of the wand dissipated, though it remained pressed against his neck. He had the urge to collapse in relief, but he was keenly aware that his body remained on top of hers.

"What kind of magic was that?" she asked, her voice hostile and wary.

"I don't know. I just wanted to touch you." He knew it wasn't accidental magic. He had commanded his magic and it had obeyed. That much he remembered. But he had never felt anything like it before.

"Look at me."

He looked deeply into her eyes, hoping that she would find whatever she was looking for there. He had no idea why she had reacted with such aggression. His overwhelming desire had been to touch her body, not to harm her. Violence had been the last thing on his mind, but her loss of control seemed to change the rules.

He held perfectly still as she examined him for what felt like an eternity.

Finally she gave him the tiniest of smirks, and something like amusement returned to her eyes. He closed his in relief as the threat of imminent death slowly dissipated from the room.

"What a specimen you are, Harry Potter," she whispered with fascination.

This was the tone she had used in her limo, and he was grateful to hear it again. It gave him the faintest hope that he might escape the room alive.

"You should not have been able to do that," she mused. "This bed is warded. Powerfully."

"I don't even know what I did, but I promise I wasn't trying to hurt you. You were driving me wild. Do you want me to get up?" He was still very aware of the wand at his neck, and the fact that his nude body was pressed tightly against hers. She had to be uncomfortable at the very least.

She regarded him for a moment. An eyebrow quirked. "Do you want to get up?"

"I want to keep my head," he replied honestly.

A dazzling smile slowly lit up her face, and she laughed. He felt her wand remove itself from his neck. His head swam at the abrupt change in her mood.

"Get on your back," she commanded.

He did as he was told. She scooted herself from underneath him as his weight lifted, then she stood at the edge of the bed, watching as he settled himself. He kept his hands and feet away from the destroyed bonds at the corners of the bed, hoping they would not restrain him again.

She eyed him speculatively for another long moment, her eyes roving across his body. Her wand had disappeared somewhere, but he had no doubt she could recall it an instant. Slowly she stepped onto the bed and stood over him. He could not resist looking up at her body. Her legs were taut, her bare sex still glistening from their earlier activities. From this angle the fullness of her breasts taunted him. She looked like a goddess surveying her domain.

"It seems the rules of our little game have changed," she said, staring at him intently. "I admit I underestimated you, Harry. I don't like surprises."

He met her eyes again, unsure what she wanted to hear. He resisted pointing out that he wasn't a fan of surprises either, especially ones originating from the most unpredictable person he had ever met.

She smiled at his confusion. "For once you should be grateful you are such an open book."

Again he had no idea what to say. He watched as she slowly lowered herself onto the bed. She lifted a leg over his hips and straddled him once more. He sighed as she dropped her weight on him. Though no longer aroused, he was astonished that she seemed intent on returning to their previous activities.

"Move your arms," she commanded, and he did so. He moved them carefully to the edges of the bed, as if he were on a cross. No restraints bound him, but the position made him feel extremely vulnerable.

She leaned forward, her weight on her elbows, until her face was inches from his. "Even if you subdued me, I could utter a single word and my guard would kill you before you were even aware he had entered the room. Do you understand?"

He nodded, believing every word she spoke. Her eyes shined as she examined his face from up close. "You dared to touch me, little Gryffindor. Do you dare do it again?"

He stared deeply into her eyes, trying to determine what she wanted from him. The question was not as simple as it sounded.

"I…do you want me to?"

She smirked, and lowered her face even closer, until her nose was only an inch from his. From this distance her eyes were the most captivating thing he had ever seen. His pulse thumped wildly.

"That is not the question," she whispered. "I _said_ —do you dare touch me again?"

He swallowed thickly, trying to discern what sort of test he was being asked to pass. She was daring him to touch her; that much was clear. But she would not reveal the consequences. She sounded deadly and playful and mocking all at once.

Her eyes narrowed as she watched his expression. He had no doubt she was literally watching him think. "Freedom is such a burden, isn't it? You should have considered that before you broke your bonds."

She was trying to provoke a reaction, he finally understood. Their game had changed, even if she ultimately controlled the rules. Would she think less of him if he didn't respond? Would he think less of himself? Her words—'little Gryffindor'—rang in his ears. Somehow he knew she wanted him to dare. This was no longer just about sex with a beautiful woman, if it ever was. He sighed. The only assurance of his safety was the curiosity evident in her face.

"I dare," he said softly.

She raised a single eyebrow. "Is that so?"

He held her gaze as he slowly, deliberately moved his arms until his hands rested on her flanks, just above her hips. His heart raced, but he held his breath, wondering if he was making a fatal mistake.

"So you do," she whispered, her lips slowly curling into a sardonic smile.

She lowered her face to his, until their noses were touching and they were a hairsbreadth away from kissing. "What else do you dare, Harry Potter?"

She had already told him that only her husbands were allowed to kiss her, and each of them had ended up dead. Harry knew he was taking his life in his hands, but something compelled him to act. He felt an irrational, absurd need to prove himself worthy of her—not just worthy of her, but better somehow than all her previous conquests. He was still terrified of her, but this was now a matter of pride. Nobody had the right to mock his bravery.

With only a moment's hesitation, he kissed her. He could feel her lips smiling against his when they met. She opened her mouth to him and his tongue met hers with a confidence that surprised him. The sensation was utterly unlike what he had experienced with Cho. That had been sloppy and confusing. This was so charged with desire that he lost himself in it. He turned his head so he could lean in to the kiss. He was shocked that he could feel her desire mirroring his. It rolled off her in waves—something hungry, feral, and demanding. He grew hard between her legs, and he had to resist the urge to grab her forcefully.

They kissed for so long that Harry felt light-headed from lack of oxygen. Phaedra ended it. She leaned back until she was straddling him once again, his arousal pressed against his stomach by her weight. Something had changed in the room. He could literally feel it in the air, as if it were charged with electricity. He licked his lips and stared up at her, trying to catch his breath.

She watched him with the curiosity of an amused predator. "Shall we finish our little game?"

Harry swallowed heavily but nodded.

Phaedra raised herself up and reached between her legs, taking his cock in her hand. She rubbed him slowly against her wetness, teasing both of them, before slowly lowering herself onto him. Harry breathed out roughly as he filled her. She dug her fingernails into chest.

"Do you wish it were someone else straddling you right now, Harry?"

"No," he replied without hesitation, and she smiled.

"I thought not."

His hands remained on her hips, where they had rested before he dared to kiss her. Slowly, making his intentions clear, he slid them up her flanks. She shivered at his caress. He didn't stop until he was gently cupping her perfect breasts in both hands. He marveled at their softness and fullness. He squeezed them gently and traced their contours with his thumbs, showing her with his eyes how much he admired them. He felt like a commoner kneeling before a queen, and wondered if what Phaedra desired most was to be worshipped.

She laughed, a sound of genuine delight, and he knew she had been reading his thoughts.

"Do they meet your expectations?"

"You have no idea."

She smirked. "I have some idea. They belong to me, after all."

Satisfied that she was not going to instantly kill him for exploring her body, he gently rubbed his palms across her dark nipples, enthralled by the evidence of her arousal. It thrilled him in ways he didn't understand that he was responsible for it. He was absolutely terrified of Phaedra Zabini, and yet he could admit that she might be the most fascinating person he had ever met—dangerous, alluring, impenetrable. He stared into her eyes, wanting more than anything to know what was happening behind them. What had she been like when she was his age? How does one become Phaedra Zabini?

"Curiosity killed the cat, Harry."

He winced. "Sorry." There were perhaps some things it was better not to know, no matter how tempting.

He returned his attention to exploring her body with his hands. His hands slid to her flanks again, admiring the softness of her gorgeous bronze flesh. It glistened in the light, but he couldn't tell if it was natural or if she were anointed with some sort of oil. He moved to her thighs, exploring their tautness, before slowly sliding his hands toward her ass.

This somehow felt like dangerous ground. He glanced up at her face, and she was watching him with her infernal grin again. It made him feel like a misbehaving toddler.

"You have permission," she said to his unasked question.

He gently squeezed both cheeks in his hands and moved his hands gently back and forth across the firm mounds of flesh. He exhaled and resisted the urge to grab them forcefully and thrust himself into her as far as he could go. His cock throbbed deeply inside her, begging for friction, but he remained still. He was under no illusion about who was in charge here.

He reluctantly removed his hands from her ass and returned them slowly to her breasts, savoring every second of the movement.

She watched him worship her body with an amused expression. It was the closest thing to fondness he had seen on her face, and yet she had threatened to murder him only moments ago.

"Look at me," she said, and he obeyed.

She grabbed the back of his hands, holding them against her breasts, and began thrusting her hips against him, the movement plunging his cock further inside her. He closed his eyes in bliss.

"Look at me," she commanded. The threat was unmistakable, and Harry opened his eyes, focusing all of his attention on her nearly glowing emerald gaze. It was difficult to manage when the movements of her hips were exerting the softest, most delicious pressure he had ever felt. He tried to commit the sensation to memory.

"Dear God, Phaedra," he whispered unconsciously, and she smirked.

She leaned forward now, until he almost spilled out of her, and then impaled herself roughly on him. He gasped and she did it again. She removed his hands from her breasts and pushed them behind his head, then roughly grabbed his wrists. He dare not let his gaze leave hers, no matter what she did.

Her pace picked up, alternating between thrusting herself onto him and grinding her hips when he filled her, moving him around inside her and pressing her clit against him. He began breathing heavily, and soon her panting matched his. Their gazes remained locked on each other in silence as she seemed to dance atop his body.

All at once the sensation was too much for Harry to bear. Her grip on him was too tight; her softness and her heat too much for his inexperience. He groaned and stared more deeply into her eyes, willing her to know what she was doing to him, and that there was no turning back.

She grinned and continued riding him as he passed the point of no return.

"Don't look away," she panted, and he groaned as orgasm overtook him. He stared deeply into her eyes as he spurted deep inside her, each release more euphoric than the last. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open.

When his ecstasy finally ended, she stilled. Both remained panting, staring at each other in silence as their chests heaved. He idly wondered if she had finished too when she leaned forward and he spilled out of her. His release immediately flowed out of her and onto him, dripping onto his cock in a way that made him feel proud.

She grabbed one of his hands and pushed it roughly between her legs, then leaned forward until her face was inches from his.

"You wanted to touch me, Harry. Show me how much."

She pushed his hand further down, and she exhaled roughly as two fingers penetrated her. He was instantly surrounded by her warmth, his hand engulfed in his own release and her slick arousal. He hesitantly reached into her as far as he could, gently massaging her walls, and she moved his thumb to her clit, pressing it against her.

She blinked and, for the first time, closed her eyes. He watched her face, entranced by its beauty and by the pleasure he was giving to her, as she rubbed his thumb across her swollen clit and buried his fingers inside her.

She was soon panting again, and he couldn't look away from her face. Suddenly her grip on his hand tightened. He wriggled his fingers inside her, delighting in her expression, and her head collapsed onto his chest. He could only see her dark black hair, her immaculate braid trailing down her back and the rest splayed across his chest. She panted into his chest as she came, her hand pressing his own deep inside her.

She remained where she was for half a minute, his fingers inside her long after her pleasure was spent. She took a deep breath and exhaled, then slowly lifted herself until she was straddling him once more. He gently removed his hand from between her legs. She gazed down at him with an expression he hadn't seen on her face before. Her forehead was glistening with perspiration and her hair was wild. Her eyes, for the first time, did not seem sinister.

He was suddenly aware that he had just lost his virginity. And not just to anyone, but to one of the most dangerous witches on the planet, one who had sought him out for precisely what they were doing. He wouldn't trade the experience for anything, even if he was vaguely aware that he might still be in danger.

She smirked at his expression. "All that you expected?"

"You know it was."

'Thank you' felt oddly inappropriate given the circumstances of his arrival. And yet those were the words that threatened to escape his lips. She probably knew what he was thinking anyway.

"I've never met a man I couldn't satisfy. I have yet to meet one who could satisfy me."

He winced at the implied insult, but knew there was no point in being offended. This was his first time, after all. He didn't think she was telling the complete truth either. He had surprised her earlier—something that appeared to shock and thrill her—and she had seemed more than satisfied with him only a moment ago. He involuntarily wondered if her former husbands had felt something similar. The delighted grin that played across her lips sent a shiver down his spine.

"They were satisfied most of all. Each died a very happy man, I assure you."

She didn't seem to take offense at his errant thoughts. She merely smiled. "You really should do something about your mind, Harry. It's as if your natural barriers have been damaged. Your mind is wide open to me, and no doubt to others too."

He sighed and closed his eyes. Given his connection to Voldemort and his brutal lessons with Snape, he had no doubt that she was right. The Dark Lord's possession of him during the Ministry battle had likely done him no favors either. The fact that she was giving him advice was oddly comforting. It gave him confidence that she intended to let him walk away from this terrifying and wonderful experience.

He opened his eyes to see her examining his face with an enthralled look. He realized she was looking at his scar. She brushed away the fringes of his hair and touched it. He tried not to flinch. He knew it was probably an angry red. It had been inflamed since his fight with Voldemort at the end of the school year.

Harry let her examine his scar in silence, though it made him uncomfortable. She rubbed a finger gently up and down its length, seemingly fascinated.

"I have never seen a mark of such power."

"What?" he asked warily.

She glanced at him and then continued tracing her finger across it almost tenderly. "Surely you know that this is no ordinary scar. Scars don't take the shape of the most powerful protective rune in magic. This is a bold declaration."

Not having studied runes, he had no idea what she was talking about. He was a little disconcerted that no one else had mentioned anything like this to him. He resolved to look into the matter as soon as he could, assuming he left the room intact.

He flinched when she suddenly grabbed his jaw and turned his face to the side. Her fingers traced their way down his neck, until she pressed on the spot where her wand had burned him. He had almost forgotten the pain of that moment in the bliss that followed. The incident flooded back into his memory, and he hissed in pain as she touched him. Though he couldn't see it, there was now a dark circle on his neck, a perfect imprint of the wand that had nearly branded him.

A moment later the same wand appeared in her hand, and she traced it gently along the burn mark. A cooling sensation flowed into his skin, and he breathed a deep sigh as the pain mostly receded.

She leaned back and smiled at him. "That mark will never fully heal."

He winced and met her eyes, hoping she wasn't serious. It was difficult to discern what her amusement meant.

"I would not heal it even if I could," she continued. "It will be a nice memento of our afternoon together, don't you think? Now I have marked you too."

Harry snorted. He had been hearing the word 'marked' far too much lately, and didn't want to add yet another scar to his collection. The memory of Dumbledore's crushing revelation rose unbidden to his mind, and too late he realized he was staring into the curious eyes of Phaedra Zabini.

He blinked hurriedly and looked away, but not before he saw both of her eyebrows rise. He froze beneath her, hoping against hope that she hadn't seen anything. A moment later he felt her wand press against his neck, and he turned to look at her, his heart in his throat.

"What did you see?" he whispered in growing horror.

She smiled, slowly, until she had revealed every one of her perfect teeth. The beautiful woman who had just ravished him was replaced by the predator he encountered hours earlier.

There was a long, oppressive silence as she smiled at him, her wand pressing deeply into his neck. His pulse thumped wildly and he lay still, terrified of what might happen next.

"And either must die at the hand of the other," she whispered in barely hidden delight.

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 **A/N** : Well, that just went sideways. Even sex is a deadly experience for Harry. Sorry for the delay, but I hope you enjoyed it. The final chapter won't take nearly as long.

I love feedback if you're in the mood to leave a review.


	5. Chapter 5

**WARNING** : This story is for mature audiences only. It contains representations of sexual acts and situations.

 **Disclaimer** : I don't own Harry Potter, etc., etc.

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 **Chapter Five:**

Harry's mind went blank. The most important secret he possessed was now in the hands of a witch who could do whatever she wanted with it. He could only stare at Phaedra's smug face in stunned silence.

Neither had moved since the revelation of the prophecy. His sole comfort was that the wand pressed into his neck wasn't searing him like it had before.

Finally she broke the silence. "What an interesting development," she said softly, though her smile terrified him. "You are a simply _fascinating_ creature, Harry Potter."

"What are you going to do?" he asked, barely able to breathe.

She tilted her head curiously at him. "What do you think I should do?"

"You should let me go."

She laughed, as if it were the most charming thing she had ever heard. "Oh, dear boy, you are adorable."

Harry's instincts were screaming at him to act, but the wand at his neck served as an excellent deterrent. Even if he overcame her, there was her bodyguard to consider. He was well and truly fucked, and he didn't know what to do.

Mere moments ago he had been ravished by this beautiful woman; she had even treated him with tenderness afterwards. Now they were back to predator and prey.

"Please," he whispered. "You don't understand what this means."

"Oh, I think I do. I have information that is simply _to die for_. Some might call it priceless. What ever shall I do with it?"

"Did you see the whole thing?"

She sniffed, as if he had just insulted her. "What is the power the Dark Lord knows not?" she asked, her eyes suddenly boring into his.

He didn't bother to look away, not with a wand at his neck and no idea what the answer was anyway. "I have no idea. Dumbledore doesn't know either."

"Hmmm…" she mused, watching him closely. "You are a powerful young man, Harry, but not at all the sort of wizard who could defeat the Dark Lord in a duel."

"I've defeated him several times already," he said, a little composure returning. He was going to need all his wits about him to escape this situation, and convincing her that he was a threat to Voldemort seemed like an excellent start.

"Show me."

Harry grimaced, knowing exactly what she wanted. He could only hope that revealing the entire truth of his adventures would preserve his life, or perhaps convince her that she shouldn't reveal the prophecy to anyone.

She leaned forward, her wand pressing deeper into his neck. Her eyes narrowed and he could feel the power of her gaze boring deeply into his mind. He pushed his various encounters with Voldemort forward. Flashes of memories passed before his mind's eye—images of trolls, burning Professors, dead basilisks, graveyard duels, prophecy spheres, lost godfathers, and, finally, the Dark Lord's failed attempt to possess him. It was a disorienting experience, and left him with an instant headache.

She blinked rapidly, trying to assimilate the massive amount of information he had presented to her. She took a deep breath and stared at the wall for almost a minute, contemplating what she had seen.

Finally she looked down at him. "Dumbledore has been quite busy keeping a lid on your adventures at Hogwarts, hasn't he?"

Harry just glared at her, the pain behind his eyes starting to recede.

"You have an absolutely extraordinary amount of luck. It's astonishing, in fact."

"I'm not feeling so lucky at the moment."

She smiled almost happily at him. "No, you are in quite the dilemma this time, aren't you, Harry Potter?"

A moment later he twitched and fell unconscious, not even realizing she had cast a spell at him.

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He gasped as he awoke. He looked around wildly, memories rushing back to him, and was relieved to find himself still in the hotel room. Except he was now bound tightly to a chair. His hands were tied behind his back; his legs were bound to the chair legs with restraints that felt like iron. Even his chest was secured against the back of the chair.

He looked up to see Phaedra sitting comfortably in a chair across from him, fully clothed, with her legs crossed daintily and an ebony wand dangling from her hand.

"Why am I constantly waking up bound to things?" he said resentfully.

She smirked. "What a silly question."

"What are you going to do with me?"

"That is a better question. It is an odd feeling having the fate of the world in one's hands. I quite like it."

He took a deep breath. "What do you want?"

She smiled. "What do you have to offer me? I imagine the Dark Lord would reward me handsomely if I told him not only the prophecy but where to find you. I even know your daily routine, Harry."

He stared at her intently, fighting back his panic and trying to determine her intentions. She enjoyed toying with him so much that it was impossible to tell when she was serious. He had been moderately confident in his safety before she discovered the prophecy. But now…

"You already said he has nothing you want, and you don't need more money."

"There is no such thing as too much money. It's foolish to turn down a lucrative reward that requires no effort on my part, don't you think?"

He winced and tried to think through the situation. What did he have to offer her? He wracked his brain, thinking over their entire afternoon, trying to find something that might appeal to her twisted sensibilities. There was nothing.

"People will die," he said finally. "Lots of people. Innocent people. I might be the only person who can stop him."

Phaedra raised an eyebrow, telling him she was not impressed at his attempt to sway her. He cursed internally.

"I'm going to win," he said with conviction that surprised even himself. "You've seen me fight him. You know I have a power he doesn't. Why would you help the losing side?"

"What confidence," she said, apparently more pleased with this answer. "What makes you so certain you'll win?"

"Because I always win," he said fiercely. "And I won't rest until he rots."

She tilted her head, amused at his fiery words, and glanced at his scar. "A child of destiny. I admit that I did not expect that when we met. Of course, not all destinies are happy ones."

His anger at her amusement was becoming an almost physical thing. The chair holding him rattled, but the restraints didn't move.

"Now, none of that, Harry Potter," she said warningly. "I know what you are capable of now. I could have killed you already, remember."

He took a deep breath and willed himself to calm down. The chair stopped rattling. "This is not a game anymore, Phaedra."

"Of course it is. Everything is a game. This is just a different kind of game, with higher stakes."

She stood and approached him, then bent down to caress his cheek. Her face leaned in close to his, and he resisted the urge to pull away from her. "This is the best kind of game," she whispered. "The key to winning such games is to make the rules yourself. And I'm very good at winning."

Harry could barely control his temper. "This game is life or death, Phaedra, not gobstones."

She ran a hand through his hair almost affectionately, then returned to her seat. "I'm quite aware of that, _Harry_ ," she said with a mocking smile. "But I'm not certain you are."

"What does that mean?"

"This game is war. You are perhaps the most important player in the game. You can't win a war with…jelly-legs jinxes," she said, her lip curling in a way that reminded him of Snape.

He stared at her in confusion. Jelly-legs jinxes?

"You showed me you and your friends 'fighting a battle' at the Ministry," she continued. "It was preposterous."

"We held off a dozen Death Eaters until help arrived," Harry retorted, feeling the need to defend himself. "I'd call that a victory." Except for Sirius, he thought despondently.

She sneered, and it was the first time he had seen an ugly expression on her face. "You are only alive because they were afraid of damaging that precious sphere. It was a comedy of errors."

He didn't answer her charge. He couldn't deny that he had felt incompetent during the battle. Not to mention that it was mostly his fault they were there.

She examined him critically. "Are you prepared to kill people, Harry? To torture them for information and then execute them? There is only one certainty in this game: if you don't kill your enemy, they will kill you and everyone you hold dear. But you should know that already, given your…recent loss."

His chair rattled at the dismissive reference to Sirius. He longed to shout at her, but it would serve no purpose. It would only make things worse. He settled for glaring at her hatefully.

"I am only speaking the truth, whether you want to acknowledge it or not. How can you win the game when you're not even willing to play it?"

He clenched his jaw, trying to smother his fury. He had no idea how to respond to her.

Phaedra sighed and stood. She picked up her chair and moved it closer to him. Then she sat down and faced him with her chin in her hand, an oddly contemplative look on her face. He returned her gaze warily.

Before the silence could grow too uncomfortable, she smiled. It was almost warm. "I wasn't lying when I said you were endearing, you know."

His anger was slowly replaced by confusion. She was looking at him almost maternally.

"So brave, and yet so naïve. So incorruptible, and yet so helpless."

"I'm not helpless."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow, reminding him of his current situation. She leaned forward in her chair and pinned him with her gaze. "Bellatrix wasn't lying, Harry Potter. You have to _mean_ it. Do you mean it?"

He swallowed thickly. He knew she was questioning his ability to fight a war. Was this a test he needed to pass? She had pivoted between teasing him, threatening him, deliberately provoking his rage, and was now giving him a serious lecture on warfare. His mind reeled, trying to make sense of it.

She sat back and watched him as he absorbed her words.

"I mean it," he said finally, uncertain whether he was trying to convince her or himself.

"We shall see, won't we?"

Silence dragged out as they watched each other. She stared at him thoughtfully, wearing no mask that he could detect. It almost gave him hope. Harry thought her face was even more beautiful when it was relaxed. Despite the situation, he felt an irrational need to seek her approval, to prove that he was worthy of the role he had been assigned in this game. Was she waiting on him to convince her?

"What is it you want, Phaedra?" he asked, as candidly and politely as he could.

She smiled, her amusement returning. "Oh, are we negotiating now, Mr. Potter?"

He blew out an annoyed breath. "I don't know, because I don't know what you want. More money? More _pleasure_?"

"I've already experienced a great deal of pleasure with you this afternoon. What other kinds of pleasure could you offer me?"

He had to stomp down the urge to swear at her beautiful, smirking face. "If you tell me what you bloody want in exchange for silence, maybe I can get it!"

The air rang with the volume of his words for a moment.

She sighed and looked at him almost sadly. "Oh, Harry."

Something in her tone terrified him, far more than when she had actually threatened him. "What?" he asked, his throat tightening.

She rose from her seat. He blinked and tried not to panic as she moved behind him. He flinched when she ran a hand gently through his hair. A moment later he felt her hands on his shoulders. She kneaded the tense muscles there, leaving him more confused than ever. It was unnerving not being able to see her. Her hair brushed his face and he could feel her leaning toward him.

"What makes you think you're even going to remember this afternoon?" she whispered in his ear.

His blood turned to ice at her words. "What?"

"Your mind is an open book, dear boy. Anyone could see our afternoon together. Anyone could see that I know the prophecy. You could simply tell someone what happened here. I am rather keen to avoid Dumbledore's attention."

"I…I wouldn't," he said, panicking. He struggled to turn and look at her, but she continued gently massaging her thumbs into him, as if they were intimate lovers comforting each other.

"I'm afraid that's irrelevant," she said softly. "I would be an absolute fool to let you leave this room with your memories. I am no fool."

He searched desperately for the words that would change her mind. There were none. All at once he realized he had been doomed from the start. "You were always going to obliviate me, weren't you? No matter what happened."

Phaedra stopped massaging him and walked back to her chair, letting the question linger. She seated herself and considered him for a long moment. "It was always likely. But I like to keep my options open. If things had gone differently, I might have let you keep your memories. We all like to savor the enjoyable ones, don't we?"

His mind whirled at the inescapable trap she had laid for him.

Slowly she smiled, her green eyes boring into his. "Tell me the truth, Harry. Let's pretend the prophecy doesn't exist. Let's pretend you have no enemies. If you could keep your memory of this afternoon, would you?"

Harry felt sick. She was teasing him with something he couldn't have. He looked into her eyes and tried to focus on the question, hoping he could find some way to change her mind, but despairing all the same.

"I would," he answered honestly. "I would want to remember this. I _do_ want to remember this. Please, Phaedra."

"And why do you want to remember?"

He huffed, his outrage returning. "Because I just lost my virginity, for one thing. Isn't that an occasion to remember?"

She chuckled softly. "And did you enjoy the experience, setting aside your present circumstances?"

"You already know, don't you? You were in my bloody mind the whole time."

"Yes, but I want to hear you say the words."

Harry nearly growled at her. Her narcissism knew no bounds. "Yes, I enjoyed it. You know how fucking gorgeous you are. I can't say I loved every second of it, because half the time I was terrified. If you set aside your bloody wand in my neck—it's something I want to remember."

She nodded slowly. "It has been an enjoyable afternoon for me too, Harry, if that means anything to you. But I'm afraid our time together has come to an end."

Her wand slipped into her hand.

Panic rose in his chest again. "You don't have to do this, Phaedra. I wouldn't betray you."

"I don't leave people in a position to betray me."

"I _need_ my memories of this afternoon," he said, pleading. "You…you warned me about Hermione. I need to remember that. You gave me advice I need to remember. You…" he thought desperately, trying to find something that would convince her. "You _want_ me to remember, don't you? To remember that it was you who…seduced me? Isn't it more satisfying for you if we both remember?"

Her sadistic smile returned. "So you do have some insight. But I want to continue living far more than I want satisfaction."

He struggled against his bonds, but they seemed to grow tighter around him. "What are you going to do?"

"The simplest thing would be to turn you over to the Dark Lord immediately. That would remove many an inconvenience for me, wouldn't it?"

He stared her down. "But you don't want to do that. Not really."

"Oh?" she said, amused. "You have become an expert on me in our brief time together?"

"You don't want to get involved," he said firmly. "You just like toying with me. Don't lie. You never intended to turn me over to Voldemort."

She smirked. "Go on."

He licked his lips, hoping his mind would supply the proper words. It dawned on him that he was now in the absurd position of having to seduce her. "All your little threats…they were a game. You were playing with me, because it amused you and because…because I was terrified of you."

"You think me a witch who makes idle threats?"

He winced. "No. I mean—not when you had your wand at my neck, but before that…you were doing what you needed to do to seduce me. You didn't plan to hurt me."

"And how is this relevant to your current predicament?" she urged.

"Nothing has changed," he said desperately. "Except that you got what you wanted, and…and you enjoyed it. You just said you did. You could just…leave me alone. You could watch the game play out. Or you could help me. Wouldn't that be a different kind of pleasure?"

She snorted, and it turned into full-blown laughter. "You are suggesting that I _help_ you defeat the Dark Lord?"

"What's stopping you?" he insisted. "Wouldn't it make the game more, er, sporting? Don't pretend you couldn't do it in secret and cover your tracks."

She stared at him in seeming admiration. "Such a Gryffindor. Do I strike you as a charitable witch, Harry?"

"No. But you are the kind of witch who makes deals. Favors for favors, you said."

"What sorts of favors?" she asked coyly, mocking his own words from the limousine.

"Merlin, Phaedra," he said, at his wit's end. "You decide. I don't know what you want. I would be in your debt afterwards. You would enjoy that immensely, wouldn't you?"

She grinned at him, her eyes twinkling, and it slowly became a bright smile, the most beautiful and terrifying he had yet seen. "Absolutely adorable," she cooed.

Harry huffed indignantly, and couldn't contain a little blush.

She leaned forward and caressed his cheek with her hand. "I am not a kind person. Do you truly want to be under my thumb?"

"No, but I don't want to die before I even get a chance to fight," he said mulishly. "You may be a bitch, but you're honorable. Sort of."

She laughed, then leaned back and looked him over from head to toe. He thought she had a streak of voyeurism that almost matched her narcissism. "You are full of surprises, Harry."

"Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment."

She crossed her arms, tapping her wand lightly with one finger. "Do you know what the most delicious aspect of this situation is?"

"What?"

"I could promise you the world right now. I could promise to help you, in exchange for future favors. But if I changed my mind…you would never know. One day soon you could find yourself kneeling before the Dark Lord, and you would never know that it was I who put you there. But I would know. Isn't that lovely?"

His gut tightened. "You're not going to do that."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Because you would want me to know it was you. If I never learned how I was captured, you wouldn't have the _pleasure_ of seeing my pain."

She didn't respond to his words, just watched him with pursed lips that might have meant amusement or disapproval or something else entirely.

Finally she stood. Harry watched with trepidation as she walked to a bureau on the other side of the room, returning with something in her hands.

"What are you doing?"

"Our time is short," she replied. "I am going to obliviate you soon. That is simply not negotiable. Whatever else lies in your future, I promised to pay you for our afternoon together, and I shall."

Harry blinked at the non-sequitur. He had completely forgotten about her proposition in the chaos that followed. "Pay me?"

She levitated a nearby end table and placed it right next to him. On it she placed parchment, a quill, and a small key.

"As I said, Harry, I return the favors that are granted me. You'll soon discover yourself to be significantly wealthier." She held up the small key, and he realized it was from Gringotts. "There will be 100,000 galleons in this vault within the hour, and this is the only key."

He gaped at her. "A…a hundred thousand galleons?"

She stroked her finger under his chin, as if he were a favored pet. "That is more than I intended to gift you, but you did provide me with quite a lot of entertainment. Far more than I was expecting. You didn't even ask me how much I was offering for your time. Quite disappointing, really. You're lucky that I'm so generous."

Harry swallowed, still stunned by the amount. A hundred thousand galleons. Five hundred thousand pounds. That amount of money could buy a nice house…or help wage a war.

"Perhaps I'll place a book on occlumency in the vault too," she continued, amused at his stunned expression. "You certainly need it."

He looked at her sharply. "Wait—you're going to help me?"

"A book is no great favor. Consider it a tip. I'd also suggest you write out a will at first opportunity. We don't want all that money going to the goblins, do we?"

She slowly raised her wand until she was pointing it at him. He froze in the chair. "No! Please…"

A moment later the bonds holding his arms were released. The ones on his legs and chest remained. He almost collapsed in relief.

She chuckled softly and nodded toward the parchment and quill. "It's time to write yourself a little note, Harry. Make it brief. We are pressed for time."

"What kind of note?" he asked weakly, his heart racing.

Phaedra smiled deviously.

The next five minutes were dizzying for Harry. He wrote a quick note to himself on her orders; then she bound his arms again and tied a blindfold around his eyes. While he was swathed in darkness and panicking, she whispered seductively into his ear. He squirmed in the chair, her words almost bringing him to arousal again.

When she was finally finished, she removed the blindfold and placed it in her robes. "I think you'll enjoy that in the future," she said with a pleased smile.

"You'll mean I'll torture myself over it," he said resentfully.

"Precisely."

She stared at him for a long moment, and he stared back. It seemed there was nothing left to say.

"For what it's worth, Harry, I'm sorry to take this from you. I quite enjoyed our afternoon together. I will consider your offer, and should you prove victorious…perhaps you will get your memory back. Or perhaps you will die never knowing of our afternoon together."

She slowly raised her wand and pointed it at his head. He stared at it, knowing it was futile to beg. Still his instincts screamed at him to do something, to say something.

"Phaedra…people will die if you betray me," he said quickly, trying to coax even the tiniest amount of empathy from her.

She smirked at him. "Betrayal would require me to have been on your side."

She laughed at the look of anguish that crossed his face.

"Fare thee well, Harry Potter. Perhaps we shall meet again," she said, her green eyes nearly glowing. "But I wouldn't count on it."

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Harry sat up groggily and looked around. He was on a bench in the park not far from his home. He couldn't quite remember arriving there. He looked around warily, taking in the empty surroundings and the slowly setting sun. It had been midday the last he remembered. What had happened? Had he fallen asleep?

He felt for his wand, and was relieved to find it strapped to his arm. He shook his head, trying to get his bearings. His head felt fuzzy.

He stood slowly and noticed that his body ached in several places. He frowned and looked himself over. His clothes were slightly askew and one of his pockets seemed full. He didn't remember bringing anything with him to the park.

Cautiously, he reached inside his jeans and pulled out a folded parchment.

When he opened it, a bright golden key fell to the ground. He stared at it in confusion. It was clearly a Gringotts key. He picked it up and examined it. It was engraved with a number he didn't recognize.

He looked down at the parchment with a sense of foreboding. There was a note on it, and it appeared to be written in his own hand. It read:

 _Harry,_

 _I solemnly swear that this is not a prank, and that you enjoyed yourself this afternoon, even if you don't remember it. The money and whatever else you may find in the Gringotts vault is yours. Tell no one, and spend it wisely. After you read this, speak the word 'fodio' out loud. Don't worry. It's not a portkey._

 _Mischief managed,_

 _Harry_

 _PS – Ask for an emergency portkey from Dumbledore, and stay closer to home._

 _PPS – Make sure Hermione gets wards on her house._

 _PPPS – Make a will. Soon._

"What the fuck?" Harry said aloud.

He read the note three times, trying to make sense of it. It appeared to have been written by him. Had it been written by his future self? Was there a time turner in that vault? Or had he been obliviated? It would explain why he couldn't remember the afternoon.

What the hell had happened to him?

He drew his wand and looked around suspiciously. There was nothing out of place in the park. There weren't even any muggles around. The only sound was the wind rustling through the trees.

He cleared his throat nervously, deciding he needed answers. He would have to trust the note. He set it carefully aside, in case it proved to be a portkey after all.

"Fodio," he whispered.

Instantly, he was assaulted by darkness. He could see nothing. But he heard a voice, and it echoed in his mind. The voice was female, and he didn't recognize it. It purred at him in the most seductive tones he had ever heard.

" _Remember my voice, Harry. When you're alone in bed tonight, and every other night, remember the curve of my breasts and the way they filled your hands. Remember the silk of my thighs and the way they gripped you so tightly. Remember—when you're in a broom closet and snogging some silly little girl—that her lips could never taste as sweet as mine. Imagine what we did together. Imagine the ecstasy I gave you. If you're very lucky, perhaps someday you'll feel it again."_

The words stopped, and he could suddenly see again. "What the hell?!" he gasped in complete shock.

What in Merlin's name had happened to him this afternoon?

 _THE END_

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 **A/N** : Hope you enjoyed it. I like the note of uncertainty it ends on, and I'll probably leave it there. I've got an idea for a brief epilogue, but right now I'm leaning heavily against posting it.

I wrote this as an exercise, mostly to see if I could pull off a story where the sexual experience was both erotic and terrifying. I don't consider this to be a true dom/sub situation. The original plan was to write a Harry/Bellatrix story, as I think you can see from some of Phaedra's behavior. I read a lot of Harry/Bellatrix in preparation, and those that weren't terrible (or flat-out rape) always did the same thing: alter one or both of them to the point of unrecognizability. I concluded Harry/Bellatrix couldn't be done right without going massively AU. (If you've found one that gets it right, please let me know).

I tried to capture the 'atmosphere' I wanted with Phaedra Zabini. I've got mixed feelings about the result, but I like her character and I think it mostly worked. I'd love to hear what you think.

More stories are on the way soon, including a Harry/Pansy smutty comedy. Thanks for reading.


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